Questioning the nature of one’s reality is not easy.
It comes naturally for some,
And it is next to impossible for others.

Here are some of the questions that I ask myself daily:
Is your love true?
Is your friendship real?
Is my love true?
And is my friendship real?

Answering a question with a question
Is like trading blows:
Whoever drops first loses,
Yet we both remain none the wiser.

Am I a king or a pawn?
Are you my slave or my master?
We are but prisoners in a cell
That we call home, which
We are not leaving out of fear, convenience, or boredom.

Is the world outside of these walls real?
Is a friend on the other end of an email real?
What is this reality that we create?
And how different is it from delusions of a schizophrenic?

Maybe it is best not to know the answer.
I chose to believe that you love me.
I tremble with joy when I sense your caress!
I yearn for your touch!
I long for your kiss!

If love is not real I do not know what is.
The world outside may be an illusion.
Except for our love.