The Story of Us

Did you ever believe in pixie dusts and magic carpets and faraway lands amongst stars? Believed in gallant knights in shining armour who'd fight through dark forests and battle fire breathing dragons to rescue you from a wretched tower? Trusted in charming princes galloping on a white horse, ready to give the kiss of true love and whisk you away to happily ever after? Once upon a time, that's how every love story begins. That delicious tingle and the magnetic attraction, blooming intricately into the precious kingdom created when two lives collide and melt into each other. The sun sparkled days, cherry pink thoughts and butterflies, basking in golden beams of adoration and starry nights of ardor.

The beautifully marvelous, dreamy ideas of romance is a familiar friend, beckoning to eternal minds and wild hearts. The bearing that one day our paths will chance upon a mysterious stranger, and sparks will fly and voila. But that's the thing about fairy tales and love stories. They close the curtain at the most naive, most heartbreakingly charming part of the story. They don’t enthrall you with what happens after happily ever after. What happens after the initial infatuation and passion persists, when the days blend languidly into each other, when the first quarrels and dramatic entanglements ensues. There isn't a warning about the lost, grey area, a vast expanse of netherworld thoughts and momentary heartbreaks and worrying nights.

The knights and princesses of reality do not meet their downfall upon the wicked witch. They encounter self concocted ruin the moment all attempts, all effort and fight for love is ceased, blinded by the false assurances of having each other. The quest to conquer true love is really in keeping hearts, not merely in finding it. It’s in staying, in comprising, in giving in and growing. Have all the wisdom of a wizard, the beauty of an enchantress and the strength of a troll. But the attainment of the sword in the stone, the crown to the throne, was not through physique or magic. It was merely through the hands of a worthy peasant. One simply of valiant heart and decent mind. For perhaps love doesn't need magnificent, flourishing acts and decor. Perhaps not three wishes from a genie or a captivating voice to be a part of a new world. Perhaps love's only requirement is simply two willing, courageous hearts.