Something Personal.

She sat in her sundress on a bright spring day in her seventeenth year of life, wondering if she was in love. Well, undoubtedly she was. The object of her affection, however, was not as easy to distinguish.  Was she in love with the boy, the man, or just the idea of being in love? For surely there was little fed to her in her first dozen years other than fairy tales that formed unrealistic expectations of life. It was wishful thinking, from the prince charming to the love at first sight. And yet she had clung stubbornly to the dream, not realizing for a long, long time, that life isn’t anything like daydreams. And at times, it could be a nightmare.

But now, those were too dark of thoughts to be pondering on such a divinely beautiful day. She smiled, looking out over the rooftops of the city and listening to the children shriek in the park nearby.

…and still clung to her childhood dreams, pretending that her heart had never been shattered, that she was still as innocent as she had been. “You may feel alone when you’re falling asleep, and every time tears roll down your cheeks, but I know your heart belongs to someone you’ve yet to meet, someday you will be loved.” Sang the stereo within. Because no matter how many times she fell, she had to get back up. There was still a tiny part of her that believed she could fly, that she was a beautiful princess, that she grow up to do anything she wanted, be that an astronaut, the president, or a grandma. Maybe even a Power Ranger! The power of imagination, the magic that had taken her so many places, transformed blankets and cushions into a secret cave, turned a sheet into royal robes, and invented so many stories, was still a fire that burned inside, and as usual, it wanted out. It was exciting, but tiring, to think off all the things she could do, and yet, how many of them ever got done, or even started? There were so many things that got in the way of the things that made her feel alive, and yet all anyone can say is “That’s life.”

How did I get here? The days of childhood seem so near and dear, but then the prick of a pin as I get my prom dress fitted reminds me that I’m not a little girl anymore. But I am. But I’m not. And that doesn't really make sense.