Stop.

Whatever you may be doing at the moment,

you may as well forget it.

Exhale; ask yourself— "What is real?"

What you see through your eyes?

What you grasp through your brain?

Foolish.

Reality is not a mirthful breeze in the park that you let kiss your chapped lips in the springtime; nor the lazy sunshine that palms your skin as you lay on the dewy grass, immersed in your favorite novella.

It strikes you like hail stones— sudden, hefty and all too many at once. The rain that befalls you is not the sweet kind. It is torrential, the kind that more often than not brings forth catastrophe and turns your life upside down.

Most people can't bring themselves to stand under this rain and let it soak their clothes. They run away, run far away from their reality.

Some people, on the other hand, not only stay still as this rain falls, but spread their limbs out and dance in it.

You're now invited to such a dance, a foxtrot.

There's only one thing you must do,

Tell me how do you know if what you see is real.

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