The Land of my Dreams.

Some days, I wish I could get lost. Get lost into the land of my dreams, like I did when I was younger.
The Land of my Dreams – where the stars are always twinkling, with all their might; where the ocean meets the sun and their unison is celebrated with a blast of orange and yellow in the sky. The Land of my Dreams, where the birds sing love songs and the people live. Yes, LIVE. Not confined by any form of guilt, remorse, they live.
The Land of my Dreams, my happy place. My comfort place. My crying shoulder. My source of happiness. Mine.
I didn’t ask for him to be destroyed. I didn’t want him to plummet into nothingness. But I killed him. I killed My Land of Dreams. I choked him to death and watched him gasping for a breath; I was standing right there, mirroring his expressions.
Don’t ask me why I killed him. Don’t ask me how I live now. Don’t ask me why I’m saying this. Instead, tell me that I’m not a murderer. Tell me that I’ll survive. Tell me that My Land of Dreams still resides within me. Tell me that I can revisit him any minute that I desire to.
Do I regret it? Yes.
Would I do it again? Yes.
Does that make me evil? No.
Why, you ask?
Because just like me, you have killed someone, too. You’ve killed your dream, your friendships, your goodwill, your honesty, your respect. I’d love to tell you that you’re not a murderer and that you’ll survive. I’d love to tell you that your morals still reside within you.
But, I can’t. Solely because, it’s not something or someone you’ve killed – It’s YOU you’ve destroyed.
And I’m sure, you’ll survive…

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