essay

2 am.

The incessant whirring of the fan blades. Left, right, left, right, left. Tapping of the keys. Tap, tap, tap, tap. It'll be beautiful outside, black and wondrous and limitless. Imagine the possibilities, what infinitely fleeting poignant moment you could capture outside, in the wide expanse of just one mind. Imagine the dreams you could encounter, or the nightmares, it doesn't matter. Tap, whir. Whir, tap.

"If you live here, you live in the real world."