Every Real Story Is A Never Ending

Bastian Had Climbed A Dune Of Purplish-red Sand And All Around Him He Saw Nothing But Hill After Hill Of Every Imaginable Color. Each Hill Revealed A Shade Or Tint That Occured In No Other. The Nearest Was Cobalt Blue, Another Was Saffron Yellow, Then Came Crimson Red, Then Indigo, Apple Green, Sky Blue, Orange, Peach, Mauve, Turquoise Blue, Lilac, Moss Green, Ruby Red, Burnt Umber, Indian Yellow, Vermillion, Lapis Lazuli, And So On From Horizon To Horizon. And Between The Hill, Separating Color From Color, Flowed Streams Of Gold And Silver Sand.

One Day, You Don't Feel Like Doing Anything. Nothing Interests You, Everything Bores You. Feel More And More Empty Inside, More And More Dissatisfied With Yourself And The World In General. Then Even That Feeling Wears Off, And You Don't Feel Anything Anymore. You Become Completely Indifferent To What Goes On Around You... You Forget How To Laugh And Cry - You're Cold Inside And Incapable Of Loving Anything Or Anyone... There's No Going Back... The Disease Has A Name. It's Called Deadly Tedium.

You Don't Feel A Thing. There's Just Something Missing. And Once It Gets Hold Of You, Something More Is Missing Every Day. Soon There Won't Be Anything Left Of Us.

Every Real Story Is A Never Ending Story.

Once Someone Dreams A Dream, It Can't Just Drop Out Of Existence. But If The Dreamer Can't Remember It, What Becomes Of It? It Lives On In Fantastica, Deep Under Earth. There Are Forgotten Dreams Stored In Many Layers. The Deeper One Digs, The Closer They Are. All Fantastica Rests On A Foundation Of Forgotten Dreams.