The Surreal of the Real Deal

Dear online substitute for expensive paper pages and beautiful black ink,
I'm riding on a wave of naivete which I am hoping will carry me on, and out of this time's hollow. I've been way down but I'm starting, slowly, to bounce back up onto my feet. If that means I may daydream, drift off, fly with the flutter of invisible butterflies, and be amazed at the indication of a rainbow in the sky... shouldn't I?
What does it matter if it's all surreal?
If the feeling of something on my face resembling a smile is strange, and I'm not accustomed to it?
I can get used to it. I can make use of it. I can take all these happy thoughts and all these wondrous moments, all these late nights and all these neverending talks, I can take the borderline between dreaming and being awake in the morning and experience them as being born again... I can start to forget how to dwell on the past and how to worry of the future, I can forget all the problems, all the hardships, all the downsides, all the pain, I can just close my eyes for a few seconds imagining it's all gone, gone for a while...
And I can imagine that it's here. And now. Not far away... I can imagine we're actually doing all those things we say that we're doing. I can paint a picture inside my head that when I'm going home, it's going home for real. It's not the substitute I'm going for, it's the real deal.
That I can imagine...
I can imagine for a while.
And I aint gonna listen to that inner voice telling me it's all for nothing.
That voice that's telling me I'm being set up.
That says over and over that I'm a fool... that going in to deep will mean sooner or later you'll drown.
That the good always is followed by pain.
I'll pretend it isn't there.
The funny thing is... I don't have to make an effort.
Already I'm doing it.
Dreaming...
... or am I for once awake?