I exist only in my head. My world is in my head. It is a wonderful world. It's like clockwork. It's beautiful. It's an amazing place to be. It keeps me happy. It also defines me.
I know this.
Try as much as you want, you can't get in there. Not unless I let you in. Only trouble is, you won't know you're there. You see, if I've let you in, I've completely forgotten to tell you you're there. Because if I think you deserve to be there, I also think I don't need to tell you you're there.
Which begs another question. If you're in my world, and you don't even know that you're there, does that mean that all there is of you in my world is an idea of you? And if this is true, do I really care for you, or for the idea of you?
I hope I am, at last, naked before my own eyes. I can dig no further.
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