Ashley said to me once, in a fight, that I was crazy, that I inhabited a fantasy world because when I looked at the world I was violently shocked at the evil and in awe of the good. I stopped then, and said I didn’t think I was alone in that. And he said maybe not, but that I was still crazy.
Why is joyfulness called naivete and pessimism called realism? Why am I the naive one? I think he is. I think he’s crazy to not be able to see beauty. I think he’s the crazy one. I am so sick of being called fantastical. I don’t inhabit a fantasy. I’m Dickensian, if anything.