How delightful it would be if one could return every night to that wondrous dream he had on the previous; such that all the episodes strung themselves together and formed a distant, more pleasurable life than the organic one subsisting on reality. Perhaps we have had it wrong all this time; and life isn’t a crack of light between two eternities of darkness but a fissure that mars the landscape of an otherwise perfect otherworldly existence; and our dreams are merely portals to those forgotten fields of Elysium.


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