A Matter of Perspective

Perspective.

Sometimes, on particularly reminiscient days, I remember my childhood.


I remember the endless hours spent sitting on the hard wooden floor, frosty cold next to the window, with my dolls spread out in a circle around me. I put enormous thought into the stories behind each doll, spending hours creating scenerios in my head. I never actually played with the dolls. I simply thought out their stories in my head. I must have looked ridiculous, seated on the bare floor with a circle of blonde, disporportionate figures staring back at me.


But sometimes, I wonder: do we even exist? Or is someone playing out our lives in their heads, deciding our fates, our choices? When I stare out into the darkness, is someone staring back at me?


Our universe, an unknown being's dollhouse. That is the easier answer.



Perspective.