I long for magic, I crave it in every piece of fiction I come across. Life is so plain & dull & stale & I want more. I want to be the protagonist that has some unfulfilled destiny or task I was born to do. I long for a higher purpose, for spells, for a disconnect from the things I hate, a connection to nature, magic.  

 

I want magic. 

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I want it so bad I can feel it in my bones. 

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And some days that feels so impossible to reach, when I’m tied down with the daily delights & miseries of my every day, but god how badly I want it.  

You can escape to it for a while in well-written books or films & for a split second before the moment has passed, it feels real. The magic is right there & you can almost touch it.  

But then life happens again & it fades.  

I try desperately to see the magic in the every day & I do a lot of the time, but not today. Today I want more. I long for fairytale magic & enchanted forests. I long for a purpose I guess.  

 

I want more. 

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I can feel it in my bones. 

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Magic h a s to be real.  

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I have all the parts I just need to put them together, connect all the magic specks that our Earth is littered in. 

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Right? 

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Though I have doubts if this kind of magic really exists. What if we long for magic as it encapsulates everything we know isn’t possible. What if there is no greater power, no secret supernatural race living at the Earth’s core, no superpower or no chance to save the world?  

What if this is it?  

But then again maybe I’ve got magic twisted, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be. Perhaps it’s simpler, more mundane, yet more achievable. It’s comforting knowing that I don’t have to find the edge of the earth to experience a hint of magic. & you don’t either.  

Perhaps magic is simply in cold but bright mornings, the ones with the bitter wind & warm energy from the sun. At least for me, it is.