it wasn’t fake, the apocalypse was real. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. what was left of the world, it was only a few days, but the population is down to less than half of what it was before. I wish this was fake, but there isn’t any turning back now, I was stuck.
Real is rare. It’s special, significant. Real is being honest and loving yourself. Real is putting down your phone and spending time with nature. Real is beautiful
“I am real.” I squeal, as my vision turns to white. The boy standing above me, what was his name? Mark? Matt? I don’t remember. He stares through me sadly, choosing to observe the gnarled chair behind me than my salty eyes. My eyes become unfocused. The boy’s silhouette is burnt into my retinas by the blinding light behind him. I think his mouth is moving, but I can’t hear him.
I hear a bell though. It rings loud and clear. My ears can’t pinpoint the sound. My eyes fail completely. The ringing surrounds me. The ringing comes from me.
What proof do I have of being real? My body may be insubstantial, an illusionary shell of dust and dreams. How do I know that I am the same, from day to day? No proof, no back up, I am a ghost or less.
When he was on them, he didn’t know what was real. That’s why he liked them so much. He didn’t know. He didn’t have to know. He didn’t want to know. That’s why he took them.
I often think about the divide between reality and my imagination, particularly with a mental illness. What seems real to me is not to others. Am I crazy? Or enlightened? Or a mixture of both? Is that possible?
Real is something I wish I could be with people all the time but can’t. Not because I’m a fake person but because its hard to be completely honest with people and its just got to the point where I’m not used to it.
What is real? Is it what we see, feel, experience…? For me what’s real is truth. That’s what I search for, truth. Hopefully it will also lead me to reality.
Eric reached over, opening his hand as an invitation. Jessica returned favor and slipped her fingers between the mechanically animated, stainless steel digits. The coldness of the metal didn’t phase her as the warmth she felt inside was real.
I’ve been silent for too long. It’s time that harsh reality has took its toll. The real truth is about to come out. Whether your ready or not, here it comes. This is real, yes it’s happening. I’m blowing your cover. Your fantasy is over. It’s too late, I’m in it, I’m blowing your cover. This is the truth, the real hard cold truth.
Keepin’ it real. Whatever. I’m terrified to be in charge of all the student employees. I have very little idea of their day to day tasks, besides Circ. They cover books? IDEK. I haven’t ever covered a library book.
Red wine lips smacked sweetly, sticky and tacky, leaving imprints on the glass. Once-white teeth glowered back at me. It was like she had bitten into some bleeding carcas and I struggled to keep my shiver of disgust hidden.
Sitting before her made everything too real. She existed. This existed. My fingers battled silently in my lap, my leg bouncing, my brain racing. What the fuck had I got myself into?
It wasn’t real.
It couldn’t be.
Even if it was, what would you expect me to say?
I was shocked, dumbfounded, taken aback.
It couldn’t be.
It was impossible.
It just couldn’t be.
SI this real?
Do i know?
Am I stuck, thought, tip of my tongue?
Did I say that?
Is that what I meant?
Did I just run out of patience?
What did I mean?
My mind is a beast in me
this is real, it’s happening and it’s more real than anything else that’s ever happened.
my heart is pounding, i think it might explode at any second.
i can’t speak, i only want to smile which makes this conversation a little difficult in the best way possible.
just one kiss, or countless more conversations, please.
oh, and it felt so real.
Being real is an oxymoron. Who defines what is real? Who knows what real means?
Is real who we are, what we are, or what we claim to be? Realness is peculiar, relative, and all too much glorified. Be whatever it is you think or want to be. Who cares if it should be defined by realism.
Real. What is real? Many things are real. But it doesn’t matter so much what is real as it does what is fake. Things that are not real are exciting, thrilling, and capture our attentions. If everything was real, what fun would that be? Perhaps we should be more thankful for everything that is not real rather than what is.
being real is a state of mind. many people think they are being real but delusion is their way of life. to be real one has to understand what their capabilities and limitations are.
Your not real! Your a fraud! A good for nothing excuse for breath!
Make good use of yourself and your time because right now all your doings filling space!
There’s something about that phrase, that line “we really need to talk”
that makes our hearts beat faster and our mouths as dry as chalk.
But when did we become afraid of what we have to say,
turning the truth into something that we have to hide away?
It didn’t seem like anything here should exist, much less be in such great condition. Where were all the people, the people who had lived and worked in these places? The air was not stale with age, there was no sign of death or decay. Things just wore, as if frozen in time from the very moment of creation. Perfect, and empty, and still. It was terribly disconcerting, and no one seemed to like the idea of staying in this place.
Get real. That is the best advice I can give anyone. Get real and stay real. It is simple but not easy. You may start your day feeling real and being true to yourself but as time goes on there are many tests you must go through. People have agendas and they need your help. You get pushed and shoved from all sides. Your best friend asks you if that dress makes her butt look good? The boss wants to present your idea as his own to make the whole department look good. And so on and on and on. Where do you end and the rest of the world begins? Just how far will you go to give up yourself in order to make everyone else feel good?
A person that is not fake, someone who is honest and puts themselves out there. Down to earth. Happy with who they are and live to inspire others and make them happy. They don’t bring others down to bring themselves up. They are genuine and kind hearted human beings.
for one to believe something does that make it real
or must you be able to feel it and hold it close
must you be able to talk about it or can it just be a dream
must people know what you are thinking for it to be real
something real is a belief made reality
or simply just a belief?
real.. knowing that there is something …
real.. knowing that you are here but you are not there
you are not here with me anymore but you are real in my heart and in my soul
real .. knowing that there is always a reason to smile a reason to laugh and a reason to breath
real.. knowing that through all else i have me
The real world is nothing more than a thought by a fictional character. Nothing is as it seems so what’s real it must just be a dream that we dream at night. Nothing is real child.
i feel that this is different to many people. to me, I think real is being honest, cool, and truthful about yourself and your feelings. if you try to follow someone else your entire life you will be stuck in some fake limbo that will never impress anyone. what impresses me is the rawness and honesty that one person can offer me. i’ll offer it back, if they live in the same realm of pure honesty as I do.
i feel that this is different to many people. to me, I think real is being honest, cool, and truthful about yourself and your feelings. if you try to follow someone else your entire life you will be stuck in some fake limbo that will never impress anyone. what impresses me is the rawness and honesty that one person can offer me. i’ll offer it back, if they live in the same realm of pure honesty as I do.
is you, is me, is the air that comes into your lungs. the things you touch, the food you eat, the smells that make you shake your head. tears in your eyes and this is rubbish!!!
Life is real. Thomas is real. Sometimes, i think i dream of him, but i dont know if its ever really real. I think that maybe I want to meet thomas someday but i never will because he never comes here and he has a sister called millie who hates me. she is fat and ugly and never does her homework.her teachers hate her and say she is stupid and i one hundred percent believe them. she comes here sometimes, but thomas does not. i think i love thomas but i never see him. ever. sometimes he thinks he will come here but he never does and i miss him, though i dont know how. maybe one day he will join us, in this world of the real, and i can be with him.
Real. It is an adjective. Not an adverb. “I feel real good” – NO. When I hear people saying this, my scalp crinkles. It is an indication that the English language is slowly, quietly devolving. Someday we may grunt to communicate.
it wasn’t fake, the apocalypse was real. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. what was left of the world, it was only a few days, but the population is down to less than half of what it was before. I wish this was fake, but there isn’t any turning back now, I was stuck.
real life. real world. sometimes things aren’t as real as they seem. real lies can hurt real lives. in the real world, nothing is perfect.
Real is rare. It’s special, significant. Real is being honest and loving yourself. Real is putting down your phone and spending time with nature. Real is beautiful
life is real when you look at something when you feel all the senses coming out all the beauty exploding around our eyes its all real life itself.
“I am real.” I squeal, as my vision turns to white. The boy standing above me, what was his name? Mark? Matt? I don’t remember. He stares through me sadly, choosing to observe the gnarled chair behind me than my salty eyes. My eyes become unfocused. The boy’s silhouette is burnt into my retinas by the blinding light behind him. I think his mouth is moving, but I can’t hear him.
I hear a bell though. It rings loud and clear. My ears can’t pinpoint the sound. My eyes fail completely. The ringing surrounds me. The ringing comes from me.
What proof do I have of being real? My body may be insubstantial, an illusionary shell of dust and dreams. How do I know that I am the same, from day to day? No proof, no back up, I am a ghost or less.
When he was on them, he didn’t know what was real. That’s why he liked them so much. He didn’t know. He didn’t have to know. He didn’t want to know. That’s why he took them.
I often think about the divide between reality and my imagination, particularly with a mental illness. What seems real to me is not to others. Am I crazy? Or enlightened? Or a mixture of both? Is that possible?
Real is something I wish I could be with people all the time but can’t. Not because I’m a fake person but because its hard to be completely honest with people and its just got to the point where I’m not used to it.
What is real? Is it what we see, feel, experience…? For me what’s real is truth. That’s what I search for, truth. Hopefully it will also lead me to reality.
Eric reached over, opening his hand as an invitation. Jessica returned favor and slipped her fingers between the mechanically animated, stainless steel digits. The coldness of the metal didn’t phase her as the warmth she felt inside was real.
I’ve been silent for too long. It’s time that harsh reality has took its toll. The real truth is about to come out. Whether your ready or not, here it comes. This is real, yes it’s happening. I’m blowing your cover. Your fantasy is over. It’s too late, I’m in it, I’m blowing your cover. This is the truth, the real hard cold truth.
Keepin’ it real. Whatever. I’m terrified to be in charge of all the student employees. I have very little idea of their day to day tasks, besides Circ. They cover books? IDEK. I haven’t ever covered a library book.
It’ll be okay.
Right?
Hold me.
Red wine lips smacked sweetly, sticky and tacky, leaving imprints on the glass. Once-white teeth glowered back at me. It was like she had bitten into some bleeding carcas and I struggled to keep my shiver of disgust hidden.
Sitting before her made everything too real. She existed. This existed. My fingers battled silently in my lap, my leg bouncing, my brain racing. What the fuck had I got myself into?
It wasn’t real.
It couldn’t be.
Even if it was, what would you expect me to say?
I was shocked, dumbfounded, taken aback.
It couldn’t be.
It was impossible.
It just couldn’t be.
Real is not fake. It happens. A movie can be real or true. A book can be real or true. The opposite of real is fake.
What is real? Nothing is real. It is all an imaginative experience that we perceive as real. So lighten up. It’s no big deal!
SI this real?
Do i know?
Am I stuck, thought, tip of my tongue?
Did I say that?
Is that what I meant?
Did I just run out of patience?
What did I mean?
My mind is a beast in me
reality
existence
myself
thoughts
rationalism
NOT Santa Claus
supermarket
this is real, it’s happening and it’s more real than anything else that’s ever happened.
my heart is pounding, i think it might explode at any second.
i can’t speak, i only want to smile which makes this conversation a little difficult in the best way possible.
just one kiss, or countless more conversations, please.
oh, and it felt so real.
Being real is an oxymoron. Who defines what is real? Who knows what real means?
Is real who we are, what we are, or what we claim to be? Realness is peculiar, relative, and all too much glorified. Be whatever it is you think or want to be. Who cares if it should be defined by realism.
Real. What is real? Many things are real. But it doesn’t matter so much what is real as it does what is fake. Things that are not real are exciting, thrilling, and capture our attentions. If everything was real, what fun would that be? Perhaps we should be more thankful for everything that is not real rather than what is.
being real is a state of mind. many people think they are being real but delusion is their way of life. to be real one has to understand what their capabilities and limitations are.
Your not real! Your a fraud! A good for nothing excuse for breath!
Make good use of yourself and your time because right now all your doings filling space!
There’s something about that phrase, that line “we really need to talk”
that makes our hearts beat faster and our mouths as dry as chalk.
But when did we become afraid of what we have to say,
turning the truth into something that we have to hide away?
what is real…
are your feelings real
is our love real
do you realize how real you made my dreams feel
how you made real life better
It didn’t seem like anything here should exist, much less be in such great condition. Where were all the people, the people who had lived and worked in these places? The air was not stale with age, there was no sign of death or decay. Things just wore, as if frozen in time from the very moment of creation. Perfect, and empty, and still. It was terribly disconcerting, and no one seemed to like the idea of staying in this place.
Get real. That is the best advice I can give anyone. Get real and stay real. It is simple but not easy. You may start your day feeling real and being true to yourself but as time goes on there are many tests you must go through. People have agendas and they need your help. You get pushed and shoved from all sides. Your best friend asks you if that dress makes her butt look good? The boss wants to present your idea as his own to make the whole department look good. And so on and on and on. Where do you end and the rest of the world begins? Just how far will you go to give up yourself in order to make everyone else feel good?
A person that is not fake, someone who is honest and puts themselves out there. Down to earth. Happy with who they are and live to inspire others and make them happy. They don’t bring others down to bring themselves up. They are genuine and kind hearted human beings.
for one to believe something does that make it real
or must you be able to feel it and hold it close
must you be able to talk about it or can it just be a dream
must people know what you are thinking for it to be real
something real is a belief made reality
or simply just a belief?
real.. knowing that there is something …
real.. knowing that you are here but you are not there
you are not here with me anymore but you are real in my heart and in my soul
real .. knowing that there is always a reason to smile a reason to laugh and a reason to breath
real.. knowing that through all else i have me
what is real? reality is an illusion which is kept in front of us like a mirror, so we constantly have to face it.
The real world is nothing more than a thought by a fictional character. Nothing is as it seems so what’s real it must just be a dream that we dream at night. Nothing is real child.
What is real? Does it have to have matter? Be visible? Be heard? Do you have to feel it? Or hold it? I, for one, have no idea what’s real.
i feel that this is different to many people. to me, I think real is being honest, cool, and truthful about yourself and your feelings. if you try to follow someone else your entire life you will be stuck in some fake limbo that will never impress anyone. what impresses me is the rawness and honesty that one person can offer me. i’ll offer it back, if they live in the same realm of pure honesty as I do.
i feel that this is different to many people. to me, I think real is being honest, cool, and truthful about yourself and your feelings. if you try to follow someone else your entire life you will be stuck in some fake limbo that will never impress anyone. what impresses me is the rawness and honesty that one person can offer me. i’ll offer it back, if they live in the same realm of pure honesty as I do.
is you, is me, is the air that comes into your lungs. the things you touch, the food you eat, the smells that make you shake your head. tears in your eyes and this is rubbish!!!
Life is real. Thomas is real. Sometimes, i think i dream of him, but i dont know if its ever really real. I think that maybe I want to meet thomas someday but i never will because he never comes here and he has a sister called millie who hates me. she is fat and ugly and never does her homework.her teachers hate her and say she is stupid and i one hundred percent believe them. she comes here sometimes, but thomas does not. i think i love thomas but i never see him. ever. sometimes he thinks he will come here but he never does and i miss him, though i dont know how. maybe one day he will join us, in this world of the real, and i can be with him.
Real. It is an adjective. Not an adverb. “I feel real good” – NO. When I hear people saying this, my scalp crinkles. It is an indication that the English language is slowly, quietly devolving. Someday we may grunt to communicate.
This is the real deal. You’ll feel the seals congeal as you kneel for your meal.