Ever since I was little I’ve believed in fairy tales and romance and magic. I’ve disappeared into worlds of glass slippers, horse drawn carriages, and poetic declarations of affection delivered by men who were once too proud to speak. These fictional places have brought me comfort, given me hope, and taught me to believe in the impossible. And the impractical. And the unbelievable. They’ve made me an eternal optimist, one who perpetually wears rose colored glasses, and the kind of woman who, most days, still feels like that little girl.
I’d come to believe that I’d been ruined by the likes of Jane Austen, Hemingway, and E.E. Cummings. I’d come to believe that I’d created an unattainable ideal for love- that no man would ever have a chance of being the prince, the white knight, the Mr. Darcy-like dream I thought I needed to be happy.
And then you showed up.
You came into my life like a whirlwind, like a living, breathing, Shakespearean sonnet. I remember quoting Love’s Philosophy by Percy Bysshe Shelley in my mind on one of our first dates. That night we went bowling; do you remember? And in a moment, riding in your car, listening to Harry Potter, Shelley’s words hit me like flash:
And the sunlight clasps the earth,
And the moonbeams kiss the sea;--
What are all these kissings worth,
If thou kiss not me?
And I just knew that there was no one else I wanted to be kissing, let alone falling in love with.
