I am writing about fairy tales again. About the way that words fell from mouths and turned into gems. Except that one time with the snakes and the way that everything was nothing and I’m thinking about the way that falling in fairy tales never meant the same thing that it does to me. There is the fall, the crash, the hit.
There is this game I used to play as a child where I would try to imagine the most impossible scenarios that I could and then imagine how I would feel. I imagined that I had been trapped underwater for 300 years. I thought I’d probably grow tired of the deep and the blue and the endless.
My favorite magic trick is the one I’ve never seen done right. The one where a girl walks up to the mirror and steps inside it, like it’s a door, like it’s just exactly the same as going home.
I like the curve of your jaw line and the way that sometimes you don’t seem to know what to do with your hands as you’re talking.
I was scared by just three things, really, as a child. And I don’t tell anyone who I don’t love what those three things are. I’m afraid of being afraid still.
I used to believe in everything but that went away for years. Sometimes, now, I’ll suddenly believe in something. The feel of believing finally returns like heat rushing back to cold fingertips after being outside in the winter for too long.
I’m afraid of falling, of the crash and the hit. But, sometimes, I imagine impossible scenarios and believe in them.