I liked Reality better when it was a dream.

I think that I will turn around and notice the wind blowing tops of trees. I'll see the way the world begins to need color everywhere. And I'll realize how small I really am. And then I'll spin right back around. And say, "Nick, why are you such a prick?
Why can't you just marvel in the hopes that make up this reality? Your world is what you made it. And I don't want a part of it."

I'm through being cool.