Growing up, I never doubted fairy tales and I always believed in happily-ever-afters.
Even when I was old enough to know that fairy tales were too far-fetched to be real and that happily-ever-afters were the exception rather than the rule, I still believed.
I believed because I wanted to believe.
Believing gave me comfort.
Believing has a way of making a sometimes cold world feel warm.
I was still single at 33 years old. Although I never felt lonely, I noticed myself growing cynical.
I began to doubt everything I thought I knew.
If fairy tales are frauds and happily-ever-afters are myths then maybe people aren’t inherently good and the world is blatantly cruel.
Cynicism is the dreamer’s kryptonite. It weakens the soul and devours the spirit.
Little did he know, but my husband didn’t rescue me from loneliness, he saved me from disenchantment.
He helped me to believe again.
In honor of Valentine’s Day, today’s post is dedicated to my husband who renewed my faith in the world.
Sometimes, when life gets in the way, I forget to thank him for this precious gift.
While I may not get to spend all my days conquering evil, discovering my missing glass slipper, watching forest animals clean my kitchen or awakening from a coma by a kiss, I continue to believe. And that’s all I really need.
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