Somewhere in this world, there is someone who was made just for me. Or that is what my mother had always told me as a child. Her promises of sweet delights and a fairytale-like love made me into a hopeless romantic, constantly day-dreaming of a prince that would come and whisk me away to our happy-ending.
But as I got older, the dream became dull and the sweet delights grew sour. Maturity made me realize fairy tales are lies told to soften the blow of reality. Love is a hoax. It is nothing more than an illusion, a desperate reach for purpose in this meaningless and boorish life. There is no prince coming to swoop me off my feet and there is no one in this world who was made solely for me. There are no such things as happy-endings.
There are only endings.
