Who believes in happily ever after?
I don’t. It’s not my ultimate goal. I put my faith in experiencing some extraordinary and awful moments throughout my existence. I find it boring to enjoy a fairytale ending, without any more challenges in sight for the rest of my days.
I crave the struggle because:
- I thrive on lost and found memories and fractured dialogue lines.
- I ignore the murmurs of disapproval while I eat my daily self-esteem on toast with butter.
- I dream of faraway meadows and deserts.
- I was born a wanderer.
- I see no point in following the rules set by elders.
- I walk in shame when my plans crumble because of my stubbornness.
- I am the sole responsible of how my years are shaped, of the people I let in my veins and soul, of what may come next, and of my drive to search only freedom.
- I am a non-conventional individual that doesn’t lie to herself, way too often.
Also, now and again, I demand rock solid proof from my eyes that the thing I dread most — regret — keeps me away from idleness.