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Perfect Blue (1997)

I read somewhere that people are not mean, neither fool. They just don’t care.

But in my dreams they change, they become more… human. Why won’t dreams last longer? Much longer… Why dreams are just dreams, and not our whole life? What if we are wrong, and what we live is just a game of the mind but what we dream of is reality? I also read about this, I don’t remember where, but I would love it to be true.

I am tired of thinking and hoping for something better. I go through the pages of my favorite novel. Sometimes I wish I was a novel character too. I would live in an imaginary world, with heroes that always make the right choices, prevail over evil and live happily ever after. So simply, the author would make all decisions for me, choose my destiny, write my end and my beginning. I would have a cause, a purpose. And a happy end.

But life is no dream. Life is no fairytale. Life is what it is. And people still do not care.

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