This is the real world now.
This is the world we made.
Isn't it wonderful?
How do you know the other world is any better than this?
There is an idea of me; some kind of abstraction. But there is no real me: only an entity, something illusory. And though I can hide my cold gaze, and you can shake my hand and feel flesh gripping yours and maybe you can even sense our lifestyles are probably comparable... I simply am not there.