It blurs.

She wakes into a dream. Her face is buried in her pillow, but when she pushes her blankets off, she realizes why–it’s freezing cold, but it wakes her up a little more. She does her morning routine, the things she’s supposed to do, starts her car, goes to work.

Before she opens the door, she glances at her reflection and wonders, what if I’m living a dream? The image blurs as she opens the door.

There’s no way to know, when your dreams are more vivid than reality–until you really wake up one day and find, why, you’re really a vegetable, or a statue, or a ghost. Maybe a cat. You’ve been strutting around, but no one’s been looking.

It’s then, when you feel most like a fool, because you are one.

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