Sometimes I wonder if the reason fairytales comfort us isn’t the magic.

It’s the structure.

Fairytales feel designed.

There is a beginning that makes sense.

A middle that tests the hero.

An ending that feels earned.

Even the suffering fits somewhere.

Even the detours seem intentional.

And real life… doesn’t always feel like that.

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When we hear the word losing, we imagine an ending.

Something final.

Something shameful.

Something that means we didn’t try hard enough or want it badly enough.

But fairytales don’t see losing that way.

They never really have.

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If we wished like fairytales, our wishes wouldn’t be loud.

They wouldn’t be greedy.

They wouldn’t even be dramatic.

They’d be quiet.

Because fairytale wishes are never about having more.

They’re about having enough.

Enough safety.

Enough love.

Enough certainty to rest our hearts for a moment.

If we wished like fairytales, we wouldn’t ask to be extraordinary.

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The world is nicer in fairytales.

I don’t say that as criticism.

I say it the way you admit something you’ve known for a long time but never said out loud.

In fairytales, kindness exists without suspicion.

When someone helps you,

You don’t wonder what they want in return.

When someone stays, you don’t wait for the moment they’ll leave.

Care is allowed to be sincere.

In the real world, kindness often feels complicated.

It comes with footnotes.

With timing.

With unspoken expectations you’re expected to understand instinctively.

Sometimes it feels like kindness has conditions you only discover after you’ve already trusted it.

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There is a quiet truth I don’t think we say out loud enough.

And that is - Some of us trust stories more than we trust people.

Not because we are naïve.

Not because we are antisocial.

But because stories have never left us the way people have.

Fairytales don’t abandon you.

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Some people come into your life and disappear.

They change.

They move on.

They forget.

But stories don’t do that.

They wait.

On a shelf.

In a song.

Inside a memory.

They stay exactly where you left them, ready to open again the moment you need them.

That is why we keep coming back.

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The girl who waits always loses,

not because she lacks worth,

but because the world moves forward,

without consulting those

who pause themselves.

I seem to think about the aspect of waiting, a lot lately.

Like waiting is described as this magnificent promise you can make to yourself or to anyone in general.

But what is this notion attached to waiting?

Like I'm sure it is positive but there is an undertone to it.

The one that seems to be lying.

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