I’d always imagined my fairy-tale moment as finding my true love at some big fancy masquerade party, Romeo and Juliet style. I’d imagined I’d be in the most gorgeous, sparkling gown, my mask silver like the moon. He would be in a tuxedo, his tie messy and lose around his neck, while his mask was dark blue like the night sky to match my silver of the moon. It would be during the middle of a faster dance, when I got spun by some random guy who asked me to dance, and I’d briefly see his face. I would keep dancing until the end of the song, where I would turn to see him slightly out of breath, right in front of me. And then he’d kiss me, and I’d be whisked away by true love.214Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡCbYqhpHI8d
I later learned that true love didn’t exist, and if it did, it was horrifically cruel and unforgiving. It was a lie to claim that you didn’t live unless you’d loved. Life without love, albeit a little plainer, was easier. I learned that the harder way.214Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ58ISbyIB0n
Being in love with someone was like seeing something so beautiful and becoming obsessed by its beauty. It was like following that beauty as it ran and becoming excited as it began to slow down, so close to being able to be caught. You become so blinded by its beauty that you don’t see the looming cliff behind it. Then you reach it, and it turns; it was not so beautiful after all. It was ugly, monstrous, and murderous. You would be disgusted, and want to turn away, but it grabs you, and suddenly, you’re falling from the cliff. Then you’re dead.214Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡa0kNM7mZkG
And once you’re dead, there’s no turning back. Not for a long time. And so there was no ball, and there was no first glance. There was only pain.
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