It’s silly, did you know? The space between dreams and reality. It’s fascinating, actually, more so than silly. It’s a thin veil. One of mystery. One of impossibilities. One of hopes so big, the Earth would have to be twice its current size to carry it through.

But that’s just how life is. There’s always something no one believes is there until they’re there. A space. Whether it be a safe space or a dangerous one, it’s there.

Me personally, it’s when I’m writing. When my fingers flow across the keyboard and my excellent grammar shows and my hard work in middle school English classes finally pay off.

But there, there’s a tiny space between the you and the world you’re in when you write it. Be it a safe space or a dangerous one, it’s there. And I believe I’m there all the time.

Yet I have a nagging feeling every time I sit down to immerse myself in a world of my imagination. Where sticky notes hang on my walls, full of thoughts and possibilities for my story. Where sketches of the map remain tacked to the wall with thumbtacks. Where a spinning chair sits and gets spun in every day, waiting for its owner to fulfill productivity.

I catch myself wondering if it’s possible for me to follow through. Perhaps I should just let the sticky notes lose their stick and float gracefully to the ground. Maybe I should leave my tacked sketches to be tore down by my cats. And just for fun, I should leave the spinning chair there to never be spun as an escape from productivity anymore.

Because in that thin veil between dreams and reality, an imaginary world and a computer, there lies one voice. One voice only. And I might be paranoid, but it’s a constant sentence now.

“I never belonged here anyway.”