There’s a dormant fairytale inside me hoping to welcome you in.
A knight in shining armor you’d be, whisking me away to whatever happily ever after looks and feels like for someone like me.
I bask in blissful wonderment every morning before an electronic device rudely interrupts with blaring red numbers and screeching sounds. Before the obligation of juggling multiple hats become present.
You smile in my face. Our foreheads touch. We gaze into each other’s eyes exactly like Disney conditioned Little Me to do decades prior. Moments before our lips signify everything will be okay, I sprout up, half prepared to be an adult human.
Lingering in front of the bathroom mirror are two versions of myself — one who’s love drunk from phantom touches and another who’s real life isn’t always her own.
Wake the child. Warm the breakfast. Drip the coffee. Grab the lunch. Hug, kiss, reassure the child. Pray for strength. Dash out the door.
The warmth of time spent mothering is fulfilling yet guilt-inducing when I allow myself to believe its not enough.
Where do you drift off to during the day? While I put out small fires and handle problems that seldom come with handbooks, do you think of me?
I think of you, now frustratingly.
My heart’s comforted by images of what could be, while my cellular being begs for help, shouldering, and realness in the world. The fairytale that lives in the morning drastically changes by nightfall. After the day’s worn me out and reminded me of my shortcomings, handsome smiling faces could be a slap in the face.
I explore dark, hidden crevices of myself, hopeful that time will reveal the myriad question marks that swarm the psyche. As the night settles, I recharge knowing those fleeting early morning meetings will regenerate as they always do.
And I will cherish them.
July 4, 2019
© Ariel C. Williams