When did we become too old for fairytales?
There was a time when I would have picked love over everything else.
It was a direct, one question entry.
Oh, you love me? Let’s be together for eternity.
But somewhere, along the line, it was not enough.
Or maybe it is. I don’t know.
I just know that I left it behind. So many times. Sure in the conviction that I would get it again.
Heck, I was born pretty for a reason yes?
Or maybe I was born stupid for a reason.
I find yet another evening spent in tears. And I am more verbose in my sadness, than I ever am in my assignments.
Yet another reason to despair.
To go back the question we started with, when did I become too old?
I need my faith back. In love. In happily ever afters. In meeting guys who just aren’t interested in just sex. In human-kind.
My world-weariness wearies me.
I wish I was 21, but then, I have met current 21 year olds, and I wouldn’t wish that fate upon an enemy.
I don’t know the way out.
Every new relationship cheers me immeasurably. Every pitfall seems new to me.
When did I become too old to hope?
Where do we go from here?