Had I built a world that wasn’t real? though it felt so, my broken heart, somehow it healed. Had living been disguised as being alive? when bad things happen they don’t say to live, they say to survive. The creatures danced above us as we marvelled at the sky, we had not expected to find a world as amazing as this. They told us that Heaven was not real and that God was dead. That it was all an escape we created in our heads. But this is what I see, and what I hear. This is what I feel, and what we hold dear. If the devil can be an angel and a demon simultaneously, then we too can have illusion and reality, and we can choose what to accept. We can climb these endless steps, paint a better version of who we are, and stand at the gate waiting for praise, for it all to matter, for hope to raise and become what we need. A lifeline, sort of. A bandage for this festering wound. A cold sip of water in this desert we are lost in. Reaching down from the sky, a hand, brushing away the dust of countless falls, wiping your tears, and helping you stand. “What is this world?” You ask. “Whatever you want it to be.”