Friday, July 3, 2009

Lullaby for a Realist

She laid her head comfortably against his bare chest. He had always been fond of leaving the light on as he fell asleep reading, often times it would be in this same position. She had loved him, but didn’t always feel the same reassurance from him; she was kind and innocent—he had become cynical and cold. It was her intent to shine some light onto his dark world, and hopefully with it, warm his heart in the process.

As she wriggled and moved between the sheets, trying to find some comfort in a bed that wasn’t really hers, she knew to be careful, not to disturb, in fear of angering him; this was an unfortunate circumstance of their relationship, however it was one she had come to accept in time. As she would begin to let herself drift off to sleep she would fantasize of all her past loves—had they found happiness? Were they still pining over her? How many of them had grown into men of honor?

She reserved herself to the fact that fairytales are simply writings found in children’s novels. There purpose didn’t stem any further than being used as tools to lull the innocent into a dream-world of endless possibilities. Knowing the reality of the situation she found her wandering thoughts to be her new lullaby.

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