The curious case of Karr...

I shall lie here as I have laid for centuries and I will imagine a world of content - one where dreams come to fruition, and true love never dies. I shall concoct a fantasy of warm winters, of sunny springs and of breezy summers, where the only thing, which will matter, is your hand in mine as we walk home with twilight painting the sky. This make-belief existence shall transcend logic and reason, it will grow beyond the tangible and the graspable, above the minuscule and irreversible - a life waiting to be repeated and experienced in different ways. The tears we have wept will spawn an ocean of purity, one born of pain and solitude, which can now give birth to the unimaginable and mystical. In our world the boulevard of broken hearts shall be a wasteland inhabited only by creatures of the night, while the souls it captured will run free. For above all else, I am a dreamer of dreams, a painter of blank canvases, and a writer given a story and all the paper in the world to write it down - yet as it turns out, the moments of true inspiration are fleeting, and our mortality is a curse we cannot shed. As I take the first steps to bring forth the kind of change that awakens the slumbering, I am overcome with debilitating fear. Failure has never felt more intimate and detrimental, with everything at stake, but really, nothing at all.