In retrospect, though, it is obvious - I should have never told these stories to anyone. No matter how strong is my desire to share the magic, it is best always to keep them in secret. Actually, the only thing worth being afraid of is my own memory letting me down. I wouldn't survive naturally/magically induced memory loss or change. It would be like sickeningly longing for something you cannot grasp from your brain or heart. Horrifying.
I got used to daydreaming, but I still need to close my eyes. Oh, the numerous dimensions that burst out in front of my closed eyelids! Just choose. I am filthy rich. To your knees, herd.
To me, all this is just different sort of real. And the voice that I've been listening to for the past ten years - I believe - will never cease to sound. The eyes I have been so desperately staring into stir something in me - something that others call life. Just as long as it fills me, I am alive.
Sounds like immortality.