I can't believe it's nearly November. I also can't believe how much I've changed in one month, and wonder where I will be one month from now. There was a time when I chased a form of ultimate happiness, a joy unspeakable that I felt should be unending. At the time, I thought I sought a fairy tale life. Recently, I've come to realize that I was seeking much more. There is no fairy tale rich with eerily happy puppets that never feel sadness or pain. Fairy tales are full of life, emotions, adventure, ill-fated dreams, and so much more. They have substance.
I was seeking perfection, another thing I've come to realize (and be thankful for the fact) doesn't exist. For a while I had even stopped loving fairy tales, stopped collecting them and telling them to my children, angry at them for what I percieved to be a lie.
Now I can love them all over again, knowing there is no perfect love, no perfect life, no perfect dream. There is just life, and what we make of it.
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