Sometimes it strikes me right to the heart knowing that magic doesn’t exist.
Knowing that there will be no lightning strike, no sudden and unexplainable reason I can read someones thoughts.
It makes me sadder than thinking I’ll go my whole life without my soulmate. All the stories, all the imagination that goes into our mystical worlds. It’s there to inspire us, to help guide us.
What I wouldn’t give for it to be real. A whimsical wish considering that’s how many of the stories begin and then the protagonist later wishes to rescind that thought.
Still, I am reminded in my dreams that even when I was little “Superhero” was what I wanted to be when I grew up.
Dreams are probably as close as I will get in my lifetime but if there is a day when we have evolved or made ourselves extraordinary, I hope we don’t waste it.
I hope in our time we don’t make the road to the extraordinary harder, with our petty struggles and unnecessary hardships.
We are human above all else. Race, gender, love. These may define us but they don’t segregate us.
Maybe the extraordinary quality of our generation will be our love, if we let it.