Why, oh why do I sit here and watch these stupid romantic movies? Movies about dreams, finding true love, and happy endings—they’re nothing but fairy tales that feel as realistic to me as the Tooth Fairy and the Easter Bunny.

Maybe it’s because somewhere deep inside I need to believe that there’s some incredible, unbelievable, too-good-to-be-true romance out there that will someday happen to me. I think it has, a time or two, but it seems that one or the other of us can’t seem to believe long enough to make it to the happy ending. The first time it was me; another time, it was him. Could it even be possible that there would be a third? The older I get, the more quickly Prince Charming will have to move, because my power to dream of the improbable is waning. I can sometimes feel myself fading like Tinkerbell; as if there aren’t enough people believing in me, or in love.

I need to find the man who will see past the weary, aging outside of me, to the way I feel on the inside. A man whose eyes can capture my imagination, and see my heart. The one whose kisses can make time stand still once more.

I’m sure there aren’t many out there; but I only need one.

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