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A Nonfictional Fantasy Called Life

Frequently I find myself guilty of fantasizing about fictional stories. Whether it’s my mind engrossed in a book, or my attention stolen by an enchanting movie. Each storyline so captivating with a new feeling arising as one page uncovers the next, and so on. My fingers often resist the temptation to set the book down or turn the TV off. Time slips by, though not as quick as my mind drifts away from reality. Countless stories engrained within me; the admirable traits of each character or plot taking refuge in the depths of my imagination.

What I never initially realized was that each book I would read or movie I would watch would always stay the same. That which has been written will never change. However, the individual perception along with the personal impact will always be evolving.

All along I thought these fairytales were the epitome of perfection. What could they possibly be lacking?

Change. Each dreamy fiction hindered by the bars of a stagnant nature. The one detail absent in each story I’d absorbed, but the element that constitutes of life in its purity. Change is what inspires individuality. It’s what establishes the difference between your story and mine, what revitalizes my pursuit as the author of my actions.

All along I thought the books I’d read or films I’d view would leave me dreaming of a life like theirs. Or teach me a specific lesson I would carry for a lifetime. The biggest lesson I’ve learned is that true beauty resides with the ability to construct and reconstruct my plot however I desire. So what if the true story I should be fantasizing about is the one I’m living right now?

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