I live in a fantasy. I am constantly reminded of locations and events that live only in my mind. I have lived in these worlds which have as much reality to me, almost, as the one in which I live and breath. I step between them as if jumping from one room to the next.
One minute I am in a 30's era mystery inspired by Cthulu events, and the next I am in a 20's era noir type adventure making deliveries as a pilot who lives on an island chain hundreds of miles from any mainland. Gunships and airborne cities circle over my head.
I sup with the characters and listen to their stories. I realize that in some way they are all me. I feel their anguish as the make the wrong choices and hurt the ones they would save. I struggle with them as they try to right their own wrongs and the wrongs of the world. I empathize as they hide from the hard choices in front of them.
I have very little imagination. These characters and places are gifts to me. I love that I have met them.
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