The line between fiction and reality is distinguishable. It shimmers silver in the eyes of those looking to escape, looking for somewhere to retreat from the cruelty of the real world. It immerses you, pulling you into a bittersweet kiss as it wipes away reality from behind your eyes. If you walk the border, you’ll find that you can engage in the best of both worlds, for when one reality grows unbearable, you may simply duck into the next. Fictional heartache to distract from real suffering seems to soothe the pain. For fiction doesn’t change; it will not run from you, nor change itself to meet your standards; it will not morph or evade or disappear, unlike reality, constantly changing, never staying still. Problems and causes stack like blocks, barely pausing to resolve before introducing another. And you are overwhelmed, and you feel like wasted potential, unable to change for the better, but in fiction you can be somebody else. Lies allow you to adopt another persona, another life, another set of obstacles, but this time, you are able to overcome them. For in a realm where your only companions are carefully crafted characters, and the sole struggles are created to be solvable, what could possibly go wrong?