Happy Ending.

Childhood dreams.

A princess saved by the dashing prince. The picturesque, cliched Disney illusion that was, for years, my perceived reality. For decades I cleaved to this flawed fantasy, trying, forcefully to cultivate it from the ashes. Ashes from the remains of each staged phantasm. More and more ashes, as each dream burned and crumbled. Looking back, hind-site being 20/20, it’s imperfection clear, then though? Murky as the mud.

If asked, I would confidential say, I somehow managed to yet get a version of this dream, altered and contorted, but a surmountable upgrade.

Perhaps it was the journey that was different, the path I took to arrive at this destination. Maybe the end delineation that appears altogether different. Evidence for both are represented in the footprints of my past. Cinderella didn’t trample through 3 princes to get to her one true love. She didn’t wade through the quick sand of self-hate or drown in the sea of poor financial decisions. I suppose though, she did however struggle with challenges of her own. The wicked step mother and pet animals that talk, could be considered troublesome. Funny how as a child, these challenges aren’t what we remember of the story. As a child, what sears our memory is the ending. The happy ending. How deceiving the ending is. For the ending muddles the journey.

Abundantly grateful for my unkempt journey, doesn’t grasp the truth of my heart. A journey that, despite its wicked twist and turns, presented me with the ultimate gift of a dream come true. It’s these twist and turns that made the gift of the dream savory and cherished. No matter the bribe, the journey will never be exchanged. It is what lead to my happy ending.

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