June 29, 2009 - 5:03am — Anzel
A puddle has formed within my imaginary hoofprint, from imaginary dew from the imaginary summer morning. My antlers are woven-up in newly-made spiderwebs, and catch all the little nasty gnats that flitter on by.
Vein sits there, standing, but sitting...such a strange way to be. He is bleeding his weakness out, gnawing on a pathetic, poor imaginary frog that crossed his path. There the imaginary colourful butterflies flitter and flicker away, and the birds in hues of reds and blues make their way across the landscape. It's all fake. Every bit of it.
The quality of a dream is predetermined by my sights previous to now...and dreams have textures that are dissimilar to reality...and fake.
As I enter the real forest, I realize one more: you can only look so close at the dew before there's nothing new anymore.
I had to reread that several
D: Oh Zelly, I wish you could get inforest properly...
-- Dannii <3
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