A Giant's Beanstalk

[caeso]

The page is heavy in my hands, and the little characters in my head have gone away.
Were you ever real, Alice? Or were you just a fiction created by my restless mind?

 

We have not known the comfort of a dream since the distant memory of Hrimnir, and that now feels like so very long ago. Some trade their souls; others, their sanity and flesh. I, however, gave you the unwoven spool of my subconscious, the succor of my restful dreams. To pray in service that you could sleep sweetly, and never have to wake up to see the reality of this ugly, wretched lie of a world beyond the fairytales I wrote for you. 

 

Have you been entertained, my Son? I think I can almost remember what your face must have looked like, now; in the world where you were born, and not just another of the memories that exist in my head, but not in the world we walk in.

When I stepped outside the door, and I found the depth of the blackness, and I spoke to the Man in the Wall;

when he spoke through me and used the flesh of my neck as a marionette, turning me into a doll, I realized;

 

that not even is the Void alone free. This reality and all products of it are ultimately constrained by our understanding of them. That what we see and believe is our reality; that circumstances are subjective. Perhaps, then, if I believe hard enough: I can bring you back to me. I can forget that Lyseroth has betrayed me, that Idair and her pack of Wolves have outgrown me, and that all of the people I loved and cherished have vanished quietly into the sweet night without a word.

When I was a boy, I promised I would touch the Moon.
And now that I have, I cannot remember why I ever wished such a thing:

but I regret and mourn all that I can no longer remember losing along the way.

Maybe, if I steal someone else's dreams.
Maybe, if I keep pushing forward.

I can remember what it means, and cure this wretched Writer's block.
Wonderland is no more than a memory on my lips.
Captain Hook: will you help me find my Neverland instead?

Or maybe I'll just die.
Or, maybe, I never really existed at all.
Who dreamed me into existence, if I imagined you?