A year older, yet, not much wiser. I’d finally seen what they called a rainbow, a funny euphemism indeed. How funny, to celebrate the small glance we had had at it and an even smaller memory of what it had actually appeared to be. How funny, to curse and reprimand the rain and sunshine that gave birth to it. I’d never understand them or their strange ways, I was quite certain. Because, the trigger mattered to me, not the effect. It’s all an illusion, she’d say. To balance out the reality, the woven strings of illusion that must exist. Without a second thought, I’d leave her tongue-tied every single time.
“What if my reality is your illusion?”