My Sorta Fairytale

Once upon a time, there was a girl. She had, in the course of her life, been hurt by others, but no more or less than any other girl. Still, she felt herself retreating behind walls engineered by her own bruised heart and built with the bricks and mortar of her own mind. She was guarded, more heavily than the Crown Jewels, more closely than the Hope Diamond.

Then she met a boi. A boi whose unabashed directness and utter lack of pretense made her eyes snap wide open, and made her smile despite herself. The boi was cocky, and probably wouldn’t have known modesty if she tripped over it on a snowy mountaintop, but laughed readily and was never afraid to sacrifice dignity for a good joke. Slowly the girl could feel her fortress melting around her as though it were an igloo transplanted into the desert on a summer day. The boi did, after all, have eyes blue enough to bring shame to any August skies.

Still, though, a part of the girl remained reserved; she almost couldn’t help but think the thoughts of any skeptic in the world: “Could this be too good to be true?” She was biding her time, holding out for that last shred of proof that would convince any jury and close the case. But the boi didn’t have anything to hide. The innocent can lay it all on the line and walk away unscathed, for their closets hide no skeletons that point grisly, accusing fingers toward the damned.

And when the boi finally took the girl into her arms and held her like she never meant to let go, the girl felt the last of her walls melt away into the clouds; she felt herself falling, the air caressing her arms and twining through her hair.

She never did land. And sometimes, when the sun is shining just right, you can see her up there still, floating away on nothing but baby blue skies.


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