As a kid I saw the world big and easy enough to fit into my small hands. I knew fairytales rarely happen but I was confident that when I grow up I would make a difference and perhaps change the world.
It’s funny, though, because I wanted to believe in ever afters. Happy ever afters. That for as long as I keep moving forward, stay good in the coolest way possible (in everything that I have to deal with) - I could probably reach my happy ever after.
But now, after a quarter of my lifetime has gone past me, it has become clearer that ever after is not a reality anyone can afford. That I have to forget myself to make a difference. That some people die trying to change the world. And that my hands are actually too small to even grasp it.
As a kid I never saw my hands too small to not dream big. Never felt my heart powerless to not change the world. Never doubted that happy ever after is waiting for me somewhere after.
Didn’t know the world would grow daunting monsters within me and change my heart relentlessly. Perhaps had my heart remained a kid - I won’t have to see my hands too small or my dreams too big.
