Dreams and reality

Dreams always play the gentleman to the vindictive demoness called Reality, shadowing her every motion, ever lingering in her presence, yet never taking the bold stride forward, never parading the unreserved glory it so shamefully hides. Hence this courtship of asymmetry, two condemned lovers expelling each other to the furthest ends of the tundra wastelands. Which incarnation would you elect to possess your consciousness? Do you cherish the role of the pursuer, groping your way through the dust and wake of an unfeeling quarry? Do you idealise a universe of figments and shadows? Or do you reenact the solid and stolid, rehearse the parts of the stoic, and flutter beneath bright neon lights, flickering without but smothering within, waltzing with our fearsome demoness? Allow the choice to convict the deepest recesses of your heart. For inasmuch as night is separated from day, likewise must we root ourselves firmly on either side of the fence. Against this unholy romance, there is surely no defense.