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The past isn't something you run from; it's something you walk slowly past, taking pictures, making memories. You learn from the bad times and treasure the good ones, but you leave that view firmly entrenched in the rearview mirror.
“You'll get through this. It might be like walking through fire; it might fucking burn. But once you get to the other side, the ashes of your past will fall away and you'll be cleansed, ready to start fresh.”
Romance really is in the little things. It's the way he smiles at me, the way he says he'll watch movies that I know he's going to hate, the way he takes my purse from me and slings it over his
own shoulder—even though he's a fucking rockstar and he looks ridiculous with a black sequined purse dangling off his tattooed arm.
The past is dark with thick grey clouds and the distant growl of thunder; the present is clearing up, the sky brightening to a vibrant, brilliant blue. I stand in the blustery wind and gentle sprinkle of rain that fills the space between them, and I try to appreciate the weather for what it is.
“No, our love is like a fairytale. It has a beginning, a middle, and a happily ever after, but it doesn't have an end. You can always add new chapters.”
My happy ending is rending my heart; I don't want it to end. Take me back, back, back to the beginning again. Don't fret; turn the page. Because my smile and your heart, they'll be dancing there together until the happy end, so long that it becomes our beautiful beginning all over again.
