Like a wistful child looking at a favourite toy in a shop, I stare at my world of illusions, tip of my nose touching the glass wall that stands tall between reality and dream.
Battle of realist and optimist drags on and on. Pessimist loves the gore, applauds, eggs them on. Opportunist turns misery into an art.
I check price tags on my illusions.
Petty coins clink in my pocket hopelessly.
When I stand aside, I see stain of my dirty fingerprints on the glass through the film of tears.
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