Not a fairytale.

I closed the fairy tale book and looked at the child laying next to me. She’s confused. She thought love lasted forever, her story book didn’t end the way she always dreamed it would. The main characters who were supposed to love each other endlessly, had a disagreement that had gone on far too long. The child doesn’t cry. I am the one who sobs, and sobs, and sobs. The little girl sits up and wraps her arms around me, tells me its just a story. I reply, “But it is your story.  You are me and I, you.”