I want to write happy stories
I want to capture the magic that is falling in love – flushed cheeks and a fluttering heart, the heat in the pit of your belly as a million butterflies takes flight when your eyes meet, the insomnia that you welcome with open arms as you dream up possibilities and live and breathe hope.
I want to tell long tales of searching and finally finding that thing that fills the whole in one’s soul. The internal – and, yes, sometimes the eternal – battle that ravages your soul as you fight in denial that this might be it and then when you are done fighting and can only accept, then the falling into that thing. The peace that comes with knowing that your search is over and your spirit has found a kindred one; the serenity and comfort as you allow yourself to be wrapped in a warm and nurturing silence where you don’t need to fight or explain or rationalize, where you can just…. be.
Just like the masters of these tales since time immemorial, I want to pen those tales. Those tales are what makes us human, but why does there always have to be pain? I’d like to find the fairy-tale where it just goes smoothly. The one where you can love with the innocence of a child and the completeness of God. If you know of such a tale, please share it with me. Ours is still in the making so it doesn’t quite count. Our story is not done yet.
Is that the kind of love that can only be known in God, when we are dead? What then is our purpose here on earth? It is said “it is better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all”. Is that true? Is it not better to not know the pain of having your heart ripped out and chewed and spat out on a sidewalk like it never carried life at all? Is it not better to not know the highs and lows of this specific ocean? To what end do we have to endure this suffering.
If I look at Shakespeare, Juliet had to die and Romeo too. If I look at Bella, she loved Edward and Jake the same but different and in the end, only one could win
Love, the central theme of humanity
Why then is it so hard to find the happy ones. I want to tell those tales.
I don’t want to write about fear and anger and I don’t want to cry for every happy ending in a movie – perhaps that’s why I prefer plot-less horrors or predictable thrillers, because I can distance myself from the murder and mayhem and psychosis. Maybe there is something to be said about my psychosis then. Or is that just who I am? Am I just doomed to forever ask the questions that no-one dear speak, to see love blossom and wonder
To cry at the beauty of a wedding, the innocence and hope….. to cry for the what if… to madly want to protect that and fight for that and nurture that
I want to write the happy ever afters…