Fantasies Have to Be Written

Stories don't begin in reality. They start in the quiet corners of the mind, where the impossible feels tangible and the mundane melts away. That's where I first met her. Not in the real world, but in the pages of a story I hadn't yet dared to write.

She came to me like a dream-wild and untamed, a kaleidoscope of contradictions. She laughed at logic and danced with chaos, her presence so vivid it felt as though she might step out of my imagination and into the room. But she was mine only as long as I gave her a voice, a life, a purpose.

The words, though, weren't coming easily. Fantasies don't just exist; they demand to be written. They demand flesh and blood, ink and paper. And with every sentence I scribbled, she became more real, more alive, until I could feel her watching me from the shadows of my own mind.

That was when I realized the truth: stories might begin in your imagination, but once you write them, they belong to someone-or something-else.

And some fantasies don't like being left unfinished.