You know how when you were a little kid  you believed in fairy tales, that fantasy of what your life would be, white dress, prince charming who would carry you away to a castle on a hill. You would lie in bed at night and close your eyes and you had complete and utter faith.

Meredith Grey, Grey’s Anatomy

When you were a kid you had this perfect picture in your mind. The picture of how things will be. Of how they should be. When you were a kid you had all the answers. When, how, who? You knew it all. Once you grow up,  you still have the picture but the answers are gone. You have more questions. More than you can handle. More than you want to have. You really wish you had the answers but it is really tough with the questions being changed all the time. It is not just when, how and who anymore. It is why, for how long, how much, with whom, where? You lose yourself in the myriads of questions, drowning in the ocean of unanswered hopes and unfulfilled dreams.

Dreams.

Do you remember the bed time stories of your childhood. Cinderella, Sleeping Beauty, Snow White.  Do you remember “Once upon a time” and then “they lived happily ever after”. Fairy tales. Woven of dreams and passions and desires. Covered by hopes.  They make us want to be loved. They make us want to love. They make us believe in love. True love. The one with a happy end. The one with taking breath away.

The one we used to hear about when we were six.

The one we used to read when we were ten.

The one we have been waiting for since we turned fifteen.

There is only one problem. A tiny little problem. Have you done a reality check lately? Then you might already know… fairy tales don’t always come true.

Now please don’t take me wrong. If you stuck with The Colors Magazine for a while you must already know that I am a sucker for fairy tales. So let me explain now how love does not always end up as a fairy tale.

There are 3 types of love. Maybe more but I like to think there are 3.

1.      The best kind of it. Everyone wants it. It has it all: once upon a time, wooing part, happily ever after. Fairy tale love. When they live happy and die on the same day. Isn’t it perfect?

Maybe it is not. Because life is more than that. It is more than just sweet nothings and promises of eternal love.  You can’t expect each moment of togetherness however precious it is to be a happy one. You can’t expect life to be painted pink every minute, every second of it. You can’t expect fairy tale to be like that. Life is not a book or a movie for that matter. And if you treat it like this one day the bubble will burst and you will be left with nothing but sad memories and bitter experiences. And it will not be anything like a fairytale anymore. Much more closer to a nightmare.

Fairy tales don’t just happen.  They need to be created. They need to be worked on. They need nourishing and cherishing. Fairy tale is a hard work. Every day. Every hour.  For months. For years. As long as you want it to be there. As long as you feel it is worth it.

You adjust, you care, you compromise. Together.

You hope, you dream, you understand. Together.

You support, you help, you struggle. Together.

All the time. No breaks. No vacation. It is only you and your special one. Together. Fighting for what is important for both of you. Working on the fairy tale. Turning your childhood bed time stories into reality. Unless you had the same bed  time stories.

But if you fail then you fail. Nothing can be done. You will be the one to blame. Because you were given a chance for a happily ever after and you screwed it. But then again, you are lucky because you at least had a chance for a happy end. Some people don’t.

This was this week’s Tuesday Love Ramblings. To know about the other 2 types of love, check with The Colors Magazine next Tuesday or better subscribe to our feed to be updated.

Remember to take part in writing contest Tell Your Love Story.  Read about details here and submit your entry: be it poem, fiction or non-fiction. And please vote for my story over here. I really need your help and support.