Down a Rabbit Hole
The truth is unnecessary. It’s somehow managed to claim candor. Its composition is simply a web of misconceptions. You know this. You remember Wonderland, even if you won’t say it out loud.
You were wearing a striped dress, and a scarlet lipstick that tainted your lips. You were daydreaming of last night. Of the way that light and music merged together. Of the way his eyes looked at you from the other side of the room. At that distance, you felt as though he could catch you, even if you were up high, and couldn’t, wouldn’t come down. He made sure you never touched the ground that was covered in ashes. And even though you never touched the ground, you fell.
Trapped in the fantasy of rarity, you fell down a rabbit hole, and made it into Wonderland. Down, and deep, drowning into delusions. Forcing, facing, flabbergasted at the idea of fantasy. Transported into a new dimension, feelings became tangible and you realized he made a difference. It was not casualty. It was real, and raw and true. You saw how something was formed. It took place right in front of your eyes. Two young souls—a cloud of transparency—mingled and kissed and combined to become something greater. You witnessed this. You saw this wordless transaction. You were part of it. So how come you won’t remember?
Why do you shudder against the truth? Why do you label your trip to Wonderland as simple creation of your imagination. Why is something inside your mind, less true that what’s tangible? Now, after doing that for so long, you’ve suffocated your mind. Now, you can’t even remember your trip down a rabbit hole.