Magic

I’ve always been enthralled with magic. From a young age I sought it out, looked for it in every book that I had read and in every face that I had known. Captivated by tales of enchantment, I continually searched for stories about monsters, myths, and legends. I’ve always identified with the homely heroine who desired a romantic transformation. In these fables, she made a wish on a shooting star and all her dreams came true. The ugly duckling became the beautiful, immortal queen. She found her soulmate and said, “Love, inevitably, conquers all.” I’d read those fantasies and think, “If I wish hard enough, if I dream big enough, it might happen to me.”

It is because of these types of narratives that I believe that anything is possible. Even though I have never met a storybook creature or have been rescued by a gallant hero, my viewpoint has never wavered or weakened. Instead, I have taken it with me into the real world. Magic is everywhere, it doesn’t die in childhood or stay stuck in fairy-tales. It is the manifestation of the unknown, ideas that seem impossible. I hear it in poetic soliloquies and momentous melodies. I recognize it in the flora and fauna, in cloudless skies, in turquoise seas. I can feel it in the air when the moon is heavy and high, when the stars wink mischievously at me. Wrapped like a blossoming vine around my heart, it glides along my skin and flows in my veins. Magic thrives in my soul, influencing the words that I write and the universe that I see.