I'd like to believe that there is a place where faeries exist; a place where all life coexists closely with nature, and every moment is beautiful. This is a place where nature's beauty is never forgotten for even a moment, and the purpose of life is to enjoy its beauty, as if this act of enjoyment is what keeps the world alive.
I like to believe this not just because it would be wonderful if it were true, or because my mind is enchanted by the fantastical, but because a place such as this sparks my creativity. To envision this place inspires me to write, to create, to dream, and to enjoy. It is difficult to believe that a place like this, that has formed my very being, could possibly not exist. If this place does not exist, where, I ask you, does my identity come from? Can fancy alone build up creativity and happiness? I don't believe so. There must be some concrete version of this world, or else my entire being has been formed from nothingness.
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