A victim fooled by a polite disguise. There is more to me than this. More to me than being a woman resting on fallacy. More to me than waiting until two in the morning to find peace. I am not a coward who would blame destiny to lighten the burden on my conscience. Free will is a duty and an affliction.
I am not allowed outside of my dream world. On occasion, I enchant others into joining me. I work tirelessly for admiration, but resent it when I find someone on their knees, dedicating a prayer to the hologram I have formed myself to be. I flicker, then disappear. No one stays long in this world of mine.
Reality is behind the glass. I won’t look, but I know where everything is positioned. I know what leans forward, heavy enough to break the illusion. I am in debt. Money is owed to various hospitals, for physical examinations that showed I have nothing but stress and hypochondriasis. This means nothing to me. Not the debt, not a doctor’s lack of answers, and dismissing it as nothing but a product of an overactive mind.
I continue to weave my embroidery. I am lost in the patterns and colors. Perhaps pretending is sacred. Or if fantasy is profane, then it is only because magic is for pagans. Then, I am a pagan. I stand behind the gods.