Dreaming of Fairytales

I never wanted to believe in fairytales because frankly, I’m a realist. But I’m also a liar and a coward. I hate mediocrity, yet I live my life just above it. It hurts so much to hear that I’m not trying hard enough, because I’m usually not. Why? Fear of failure? How could such a fear lead to such detriment?

But now I think it’s OK to believe in fairytales – or to want a fairytale. Other people dream of being rich and famous; that’s their fairytale. Everyone paints their dreamscape with different colors – different architecture. My fairytale is love.

I don’t want to settle for mediocre love. A mediocre job doesn’t define your life; it defines your income. But a mediocre love defines your life. the love you’ve given and the love you’ve taken – that’s the life that flashes before your eyes when you see the light.

You don’t think of your career – you think of the love you’ve shared. You remember kisses and hugs and being held and holding. You remember tears and laughter, holding hands and making love.

You live a life that is witnessed by others as proof that you were here. You can leave behind creations, but I’m sure that at the end of your life, when you look back, you don’t think of your diamonds, your houses, the expensive artwork on the walls. You think back to the lover that kept you warm each night in bed and the five-year old son that hugged you because you were crying and wanted nothing back in return.

I want that kind of love. It’s not that I want to get married to join the institution. But I want that kind of love – that’s my fairytale. No prince on white horse to come along and kiss Sleeping Beauty, awakening an eternal love and sailing into the sunset. I want a love that shares my life. A love that is there for me as my home – the home for my heart. Love that keeps my life beating. Love is the foundation of despite the brick walls or geography.

For someone to think they want to marry someone must mean you look at this person and think there is no way I don’t want this person in my life. I want this person around always – like my family. You can fight with your mother, you father, your sister, but no matter what, it’s your family. You’re physically connected to this universe through your shared biology. I want love like that in my life – someone I know is going to be there for me and love me in that way. Because that’s the only way I know how to love.

I have no interest in floating through life alone having experiences with random people here or there. I want someone to remember OUR life with me. There is nothing wrong with being alone; I enjoy being alone sometimes. But I don’t want to live my life alone, sharing tiny bits with a variety of people. I want to know that there is someone who wants what I want.

I want to share my life with someone who I want to talk to all the time and kiss all the time. Someone who, when I think about him, my heart aches, my mouth smiles, my body warms. I want all encompassing love; the great extreme. I want someone whose wants match my wants. But maybe no one needs that specific ideal kind of love. That’s OK.

But if that’s what I want – if that’s my dream – don’t I owe it to myself to find that kind of love and share it with someone who wants the same thing?

Transcribing these abstract, impulsive emotions onto paper using words seems virtually impossible. How do you articulate such abstraction? It seems so naive, so vulnerable, and yet it makes is so permanent. But how do you otherwise express this sort of instinctual aching? But therein lies the contradiction – instinct is in direct contrast to logic. However, without our instincts we’d be one less dimension.

I want someone to only want me – all the time. I want someone to share their life with me in the same way. You can’t blame a girl for wanting. So what if it’s unrealistic? How could it be a fairytale if it’s realistic?

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