Microfiction: The Realness of Things

Sometimes I wonder about the realness of things. Am I real? Are you real? Am I as real as you? Are you as real as me?

I feel the cold of rain as it hits my skin, and hear the whispers of trees as they send shivers my way. And surely this means that I’m a real girl.

But dream rain is just as cold, and dream trees whisper too. In the morning they are nothing but ghosts.

One day I, too, will be a ghost.

Then perhaps I am nothing but a dream.