The phone sang a melancholy song before a merciless forefinger cut an end to the tune.
Thoughts raced with images against moral codes and the like - yet something felt seemingly "right."
"Right" - hah, I thought to myself (the bearer of that intimidating forefinger, mind you).
A distant voice mentioned incomprehensible situations which were as significant as unbelievable.
She was playing the same game as you or I, where we twist and turn the driving factor of the human race, only to create something so obscure - something that we never imagined. Yet, it came from something. It has almost become an art form; a form of charades in which a mere guess influences our demeanor.
We craft butterflies and flowers, ideas and solutions, monsters and failures. From start to finish, we witness a complete 180.
What have you crafted? Reality or fiction? If only... if only.
*[Photo credit: *Dragonfly* (Flickr)]
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