The concept of reality

At times it's a cat's bed briefly sniffed by a dog, disguarded in fear or by intrest. On other occations, in other places it's more like frost on lilacs on spring mornings where the impossible wish of bare legs gives you goose bumps from a poor decision. In either example can one pinpoint that exact moment where reality seized to make sense and gave way for thoughts of flutter where images flash by faster than you'd be able to catch the barren trees in the lightning.

It's a held tilted back on a swing shivering from laughter, it's the fence moving too fast towards you when you drive, it's the gravel under your shoes when you walk towards the church doors, it's the heat of the liquid when you drink, it's the plant drooping, it's your hunger, it's the song you put on repeat to stay in a moment, it's the way you chased your dreams away.

Chased your dreams away... No matter the dark demons of your nightmares where you're chased at speed to escape the buildings collapsing behind you or where the rainbow meets the fluffy bunnies at play you chased them off to keep reality close.

It's when you see the connection between a song called Bättre i Berlin and the acoustic version of a song by Franz Ferdinand you smirk at reality's lack of new inventions. Everything will at one point be something new that is borrowed that is old that is blue.

You're blue. You're red. You're black. You're the heat of the moment. You're the sin commited, you're the neverending grace. You're the spider without a web, gently dribbling down the side of a custom designed mountain. You catch a ride from a rodent running in a frenzy from the demons that chases it while the mousetraps clap behind it as it chases for the rainbowed land with fluffy bunnies at play.

Your game of reality is barren. Not in the shape of the naked tree lit by lightning for that is nothing but that moment when you're fully aware of that you're real. You're real even when your thoughts flutter behind your eyelids and you dream.

I know what you are, but what am I?