Follow Your Passion: A Seamless Tumblr Journey
There's violet and lavender and lilac.
Like deep bruising, like sleepless night, like cold anemic skin.
It hurts somewhere between the cold defeat of blue and the hot anger of red.
But it's comforting too, like acceptance; acknowledgment; the first step to getting better.
And there's yellows too
Marigold and dandelion and polished bronze.
It's like warm sunshine, like soft flower petals, like sturdy statues.
It's encouraging; hotter and more pure than red but never as close as the color of life.
But it's intimidating too; like the mythical idea of being okay.
Spending literal days in certain situations in your own reality. Nights even.
Making faces and moving lips when imagining stuff, then realising and hoping no one saw it
Having heated arguments by yourself in your room.
Spicing up everything you do with your imagination. Learning? Your suddenly a professor and have to explain that stuff to your students. Cleaning? Your comfort character is watching you while you hum songs while doing it.
h o r n y
Either not being able to watch the show/movie your reality is based of without stopping every five minutes and acting out a scene or obsessively watching this and nothing else.
Trauma
Creating whole musicals and music videos to your favourite songs in your mind
Watching something from the show/movie your reality is based on and thinking "this is so wrong. This happend differently. I live here, I should know"
Either sleeping in with your comfort character next to you every night or just imagining scenes.
Sudden conversations that make no sense to anyone but you
Weird or really violent imagination (torture, being captured and abused ect.)
Not often dreaming about your own reality even though you practically live there every day (or is it just me?)
Googling "imaginary friends at age [...] normal?" in your teenage years
Thinking they be gone soon but here you are, maladaptivly daydreaming your problems away.
Improving your character and your story so often that it's now so detailed you could write literally about ten to twelve books about it. Fuck.