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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required I used to press two plastic hands together, And stage a perfect love upon the floor. I watched my grandparents and thought that forever Was something simple, safe, and guaranteed by law. I was so little then, so sweet and naive, Building a kingdom out of make-believe. I wanted to be Cinderella in the ballroom light, Spinning with a prince until the clock struck midnight. I wanted to be Ariel, with children of my own, Building a happy family beneath the ocean foam. But storybooks are flat, and fairy tales lie; The colors fade away as the years go by. Growing up means watching the illusion break. Learning love is heavy, a constant, fragile ache. It isn't always admirable; it isn't always kind. The gentlemen I dreamed of are impossible to find. Now the thought of marriage feels like a foreign land, And holding a child feels too heavy for my hand. I promise I am not just waiting for the perfect guy. I promise I am not just building walls up high. I am just Belle now, left alone with my thoughts, Finding comfort in the pages and the lessons I was taught. But even Belle found magic in the castle's quiet spaces; Even she found love in the most unlikely places. Yet my fairy tale ending looks different inside my head. No prince, no gown, no promised vows to be said. Just a quiet room of books, a life I built by hand, A solitary kingdom where I am proud to stand. Maybe the happy ending isn't a shared forever— But learning to love myself, alone and altogether.
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