I choose to believe in love. In happy ever after. In being lost in his eyes. In seeing a future in his smile.
I choose not because I’m naive or silly or ignorant. But because I want magic. I want to dance through life with him. I want to hear my heart racing with his approaching footsteps. And I want to miss him when he’s not here holding me.
And in the end, if it doesn’t work out and the cynics are proven right, I will have loved with all my heart. I will have lived with innocent joy. I will have seen magic. I will have believed every day in our happiness. In the end, I will have had everything. I will have lived a dream.
And they, the cynics, sadly will only have a brief “I told you so”. For they will have lived in fear, protecting their restrained hearts. Their neutral and rational love… a mere contentment. The kind of love that hurts a little every day, trapped, simply to prevent a possibly greater ache that may or may not come some day.
I say if it is meant to end one day, so be it. But what if it is meant to last? What if it never ends and days are wasted holding back? What if love is never set free in fear that one day it will hurt, but that day never comes?
So I let myself fall in love. Today. Tomorrow. And the next day. And the next. Until I am proven wrong and I can reflect and see that at least I loved every moment of it. Or perhaps until I am proven right and have my ever after.
Either way, I will have had everything, every day.