Mind flight.

Everyday can be any day. Everywhere can be any space. The mind is fueled by memories and desires, it smoothly rolls out endless scenes of sharpest wit and prettiest faces and biggest pride. Time and space are but variables, real and make believe are but a blur.

But the mind wears out too, and it runs out of stories. It gets tired from tweaked past, and wears thin from hoping. Because every figment underscores what's real, and so every figment is a cry. But every figment is a promise too, to leave someday, and to leave for good.