Because faerie-tales can't survive reality ~

She wore the blue hat he gave her, with the brim a bit off-center and the feathers just above her left eye. The fur collar caressed her neck as her gloved hand held the umbrella she was certain would be needed. She could hear the train, it was behind schedule, and the sky was getting darker even though it was mid-day.

There was a commotion on the platform as the first drops of rain began to fall and the train slowly pulled into the station. The arrival of the train was the only detail that could not be ignored. Once he stepped off the train, he would take her in his arms, and everything around them would fade to black.

There is a life of borrowed moments. Of passion. Of romance. It is an unexpected affair without burdens. An understated eloquence with no future. If the moments were anything but fleeting, their passion would die in the web of details that exists in this continuum. Their romance is only real as long as it remains suspended.

And therein lies the rub.

We’re all looking for a flutter, the rush of the first kiss. A romance that begins fresh emit’s an unmistakable fragrance. But it doesn’t last. It isn’t real. They aren’t real. No matter how much we want it to be, it doesn’t exist in this reality.

 If it steps out of the screen or off the page, it withers in the bog of everyday life. The reality is that the scented romance that once made our hearts flutter, fades. It has to. It has no choice. What remains, if we are among the providential few, is a deep unconditional love that satisfies the soul.

Be happy in the knowing.

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