Riemann’s Musings on Life II

I told you I have good imagination. When I tell a story, I can feel it. My stories are as vivid to me as my memories. More vivid even. My world of dreams feels more real to me than reality. When I tell a story from my personal world to other people, it is almost as if I live in that world. As if it is real. I can actually relive that story, that fake memory, in my head.

My personal world is not so different from reality. It simply is reality with an attachment, a version 2.0 of the world we live in. Exactly the same, but better, or at least more interesting…

I think in storylines and I reason in dialogue. Sometimes it feels as if my life is a story of mine, as if the things that happen only happen because I invented them, because I wanted them to happen for some reason.

Sometimes I walk over a street and I see myself walking, and I imagine being in a movie. I feel like in a movie. I feel like an actress in a décor with lots of figurants. There is no attachment. Nothing is real.