It's common rationality, so please just ask me for my answer. I will always measure my phrases, and I will do so while tipping the scales of reality. I learned my lesson, it is cold to sing songs to a troubled heart.
Today, someone stopped me mid-conversation and said "Ashley, stop and look around you." I would normally pay no attention, but lately I have exceptionally curious. People are falling to pieces. They expect me to believe that it doesn't mean they're despondent. Truth is stranger than fiction, but in my portrait of a landscape their heartache is completely out of place.
It's like the Walrus said, "the time has come, to talk of many things." So why now can we talk about shoes and ships- and sealing wax, and cabbages and kings? I will forever be awed and inspired by the mystery of things, but it is learning how to live a life with out being distracted by these prominent mysteries that I can not do.
For now, I'm painting my life in yellows and greens, and my dreams are filled with conversations taking place between myself and the Walrus. Conversations asking why the sea is boiling hot, and questioning whether pigs have wings. The yellows and greens are masking the greys quite remarkably, there is no grey in wonderland.
I'm overwhelmed with thoughts of fantasy, and the last thing I crave is reality. It's probably just my heart hallucinating. It's been known to take a monster and turn it into something so alluring, so divine.
Why be exposed to the bitter taste of reality, when fantasy is placed before you, sweet as sugar?
I would prefer to stay in my wonderland. If you need me; fall down the hole and listen to the curious grin without a cat. You will find me drinking tea with the Mad Hatter, longing to talk to that damn Walrus.
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