It had no real purpose, no emotion to it. It had not appeared, was not created. It was just there. Purple mists twirled and called and fluttered. It is true, were it not to be said aloud, that the nameless, dancing, violet void was my own, and in it, I was content. Knowledge of my madness has not escaped me, but perhaps it is in this knowledge that great wisdom lies. Happiness, true happiness, can not be obtained in the sane realm, for it is not a physical reality. No, it is in the mind of he who drifts listlessly between the two worlds that true contentment can be found. Then the void began to dwindle, and fear seized my being. If I honestly allowed myself to believe in anything other than the universe, I would have cried out to God for help, such was the terror that arose in my chest. It was in that moment that I was torn from my contentment, bring thrust back into the realm of man, and I wept for the loss of that world. The dream had overtaken me everynight for nary a month, and I felt a great urgency stir inside me to remember every detail of that place. As if I could so easily dredge my mind of my paradise. To the contrary, I saw it with every closing of my eyes. I quickly grabbed my pencil and paper, hurrying to imitate the other. When I was finished, I hung it on the wall with the rest of them.
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