callistahogan: (Default)
The dress is silk, clinging gently to my breasts and waist before cascading down to my feet. The hem swishes against the floor as I walk, my shoes clipping against the floor. The barest wisp of a curl escapes from my elaborate updo, brushing against the back of my neck like the touch of my lover. I make my way down the hall and slip inside a room, shutting the heavy door behind me.

A pair of strong arms wrap around my waist and I smile.

“It's about time,” the man whispers in my ear.

I laugh and turn, staring into my love's deep brown eyes. “Sorry,” I whisper, wrapping my arms around his neck. “Wedding plans.”

He laughs too, reaching down to plant a quick kiss against my lips. “Let me guess,” he says. “The queen's deciding whether or not to go with pink or red flowers on the table during the dinner.”

“Close enough,” I say. “She's deciding what color the flowers in my bouquet should be.”

I smile as he laughs again, leading me to the seats in the middle of the room. We settle into a loveseat, me snuggling against his side, his arm around my shoulders.

“To think that a year ago, we couldn't even be together,” he says softly. “And now, we're a month away from being wed.”

“I know,” I say. “It's hard to believe.” I glance up at him, a smile spreading across my face. “We're a month away from living happily ever after.”



The fairytale dissolves, leaving me blinking in the darkness of my bedroom. I stare around my room, at the messy desk and floor, at the computer resting on my bed's comforter, right beside my hip. It seemed real, I reflected, so very real. The fairytale atmosphere, the pressure of my lover's arms around my waist, the way he pressed his lips to mine with all the passion and love in the entire world.

But it was all fake. All a lie.

I knew that fairytales did not exist. I suppose I realized that when I was young and my family began dissolving. It was hard to see people talk about their families falling apart, or see your own get ripped apart at the seams, without being rather cynical in regards to the “happily ever after.” The idea of the perfect soulmate, the one person who would do whatever it took to be with you—did that exist? Or the castle on the hill, overlooking the city, with the perfect king and queen ascending to the throne—was that real?

No, of course not.

There might be someone out there for everyone, just one “fish in the sea,” so to speak. My sister's relationship with her husband proves that. Though their relationship had starts and stops, arguments and tears, they are the closest couple I can point to when someone asks me if I know a pair of people who are destined to be together. I can just see them, ten, twenty, thirty years in the future, still bickering, still arguing, still running the youth group, and still as madly in love then as they are now. I can see their children being proud that their parents are still together, after so many of their peers have single parents.

Yet, as perfect as they might seem, they are not. They have arguments—more arguments that I could count. They have disagreements. They do not have the fairytale or the “happily ever after.” They are not characters in a story book, where they get over their conflicts and then ride into the sunset. “The End” did not scroll over their story once they got married.

Their story continues on. There is excitement—my sister's second surprise pregnancy, for one—mingled in with the happiness. Events in their lives don't always work out the way they planned, like when they had to move in with my brother-in-law's mother for a period of time until they could find a place of their own, but they don't mind it. They don't mind the unexpected.

I can just imagine what would happen if their journey ended with the marriage. I can just imagine what would happen if “And they lived happily ever after” scrolled across the proverbial movie screen of their lives.

It would have been awfully predictable.

They get married. They find a house, move in, and spend a year or two getting settled in. My sister finishes college and gets the job she wants. My brother-in-law gets the job he wants, and they bring in all the money they need. After a couple years, she gets pregnant. Her pregnancy is easy, and she could go to youth group every Friday night. They have their first child, and the journey continues in the same predictable, easy mold. There are no conflicts; their child grows up successful, and they grow old together, sitting on the porch and yelling at those “lousy kids” who ride past their house on bikes.

It doesn't seem like a life I would want to live, even though it is apparently the ideal. After all, a fairytale ending is the culmination of all the drama that's happened and the realization that after this point, everything is smooth sailing.

Can you say boring?

Personally, I'd rather have the sort of life that is passionate. There are constant surprises, constant turmoil, and constant obstacles that I have to work through. I don't want the typical; I don't want the “Find a guy in college, get married, have kids” ending that it seems I should aspire to. I might not even want kids; how's that for a monkey wrench in your ideals for my life?

I might get caught up in the idea of a fairytale ending, but that's only because I am a typical teenage girl in that regard, when it comes to fancy dresses and balls and a handsome prince sweeping me off my feet. But if I look deep inside, I know that a fairytale is not for me, and to be honest—it's probably not for anyone. Humans need conflict; we feed on it. A fairytale cannot be. I can't live in a fancy castle with my prince.

Passion is what I live for. Passion is what I strive for.

Although I might get caught up in fairytales, when I think about my life and what I truly want, the image dissolves faster than I might imagine. I think about the handsome prince, and I say: Well, yeah. So you might provide me with a happily-ever-after. But that's not what I want or need. And my lips quirk as I imagine the progression of my story. I imagine jumping over the hurdles put in my path in order to pursue my dream.

When I'm old and graying, I don't want to be sitting on a porch with my love, thinking back over my perfect life. I want to be telling anyone who will listen about my life and the conflicts I worked through. When I am old and can barely see, I want to tell them this simple line:

Fairytales are overrated.

--

This has been my entry for Week 14 of [livejournal.com profile] therealljidol. Once more, it was an intersection week, and my partner was [livejournal.com profile] ask_a_sup. Our votes are tallied together this week, so if you like my entry, please read [livejournal.com profile] ask_a_sup's entry as well.
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callistahogan

March 2010

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