When I was younger, I used to dream about love,
The all-consuming type of love,
The type that you see in movies and read about in books.
I used to dream about romance and being swept off my feet.
I dreamed about a tall guy with a shining white smile and a twinkle in his eyes.
I dreamed about big weddings and big houses and big families.
It was romance.
It was passion.
It was long sleepless nights spent talking in whispers,
Days that never seemed to end, days you never wanted to end
Filled with picnics in the park and aimless walks to nowhere.
There didn’t need to be a destination.
That’s what I wanted.
But eventually I grew up.
I learned that the cover of night comes with curling shadows.
I learned that there’s a veil of mist that clears in the dark.
I learned that love isn’t all hearts and flowers.
Love isn’t all bright smiles and shining light.
Love isn’t easy.
Love is long sleepless nights spent shrouded in obscenities,
Broken smiles and broken cries and broken screams.
Love is monotonous days that never seem to end.
They drag and drag with only the brief reprieve of sleep.
The magical aimless walk to nowhere leads straight off a cliff.
You stop believing the books and the movies.
None of those stories seem real.
You stop caring about the perfect guy or whether they’re a guy at all.
Your big family and big house shrink,
Smaller and smaller until they’re barely even there.
I’ve accepted reality.
I’ve accepted that I’m going to end up in some stuffy apartment,
Alone some nights but not others.
My heart will break more times than not.
I won’t end up with the fantasy of a life that books and movies promised me.
I won’t have a perfect love,
Perfection doesn’t exist.
I’m okay with that.
And maybe I’m wrong.
Maybe there is something like the movies out there.
Maybe I will have the fairytale kind of love that makes your heart ache and your head spin.
Maybe that all-consuming love that I longed for as a child isn’t so far out of reach.
But “maybes” are wishful thinking,
And I’m done dreaming.