Sanctuary [Poetry]

02-28-2020

I can't seem to comprehend how life could be so precious when I don't even know whether everything around me is real or just a dream.
Maybe I'm just a fragment of someone else's imagination, maybe I don't really exist. Maybe I'm just a stimulation of a person I don't even know, manipulated to be this way.
Maybe all these feelings are just... someone else's emotions. Maybe my thoughts aren't mine as well.
Maybe the colors I see around me aren't really the hue they're meant to be. What if blue is just red after all? Or what if sadness is just the anger of not being happy?There are so many what ifs I have to deal with, too many, that I'm starting to sound ridiculous even to myself.

And if I think about it, there's this fear of maybe I'm just worrying too much just for nothing. Or maybe these thoughts are just absurd. Maybe I'm real—but I can't help thinking that maybe, in the first place—

I really don't.