“I’m not sure I’m here,” I had to admit.
“That’s an odd thing to say,” she answered. “Don’t you like it here?”
“That’s just it. Everything is so nice it just doesn’t seem real.”
“I’ve heard of pessimism, but that’s taking it a bit far,” she scolded.
“Sorry, I don’t mean to be difficult. I just can’t shake the feeling that somehow this isn’t real.”
She looked a little hurt, “I’m not if I should be flattered you think I’m worthy of a delusion or insulted you don’t think I’m real.”
“Well, that’s it exactly. No argument supporting the basic infallibility of my own reality testing can overcome the potential power of a delusional mind.”
“You read to many books; that’s your problem.” She got up and stormed away, though I can’t recall exactly where she went. The cheery tones of the world that she had infused with her very presence began to fade. Again stark white walls mocked me, and I longed for her return. She could save me, yet I pushed her away at every turn.
Shivering in fear, I rose to seek her out.