Fantastic Things.

When we are young, We read and believe, The most Fantastic Things.

I believe this statement to be true, I am India Rose, and this is my story of believing.
When I was younger, I always believed in fairytales; long beautiful hair, prince charming and those towering castles. Story books always had an evil witch, and good always won over evil. Always. No matter what the evil crime was, how powerful the bad guy was, how many princess’ he stole, good would always triumph.

Books had always been my thing, I’d always walked around with my head in a book, getting it removed if I stayed up too late, books were my greatest love, but also my weakness. The way to my heart was through a book. Find me a good book, and then I was yours.
Books always knew how to make someone feel special, and wanted. They didn’t moan, and they just gave me happiness. Always give, and all they wanted was to be read, not to be sitting on a shelf collecting dust over the years.

At the end of every book, after good triumphs over evil, the boy would get the girl, and the girl would get the boy. Perfection in my eyes.

I’d read through all the hopeless romantic books, fallen in love with every character, groaned when the boy ran off with the wrong person and fell for a trick, but triumphed when they came to their senses, cried throughout the whole thing and treated them as they were my own family, which they were, I guess. I grew up with every character, taking a little part of them with me, every little quirk of their lives became a part of mine, their annoying habits became my annoying habits.

All the books pointed to the same thing, that I would grow up to be beautiful, and people might not notice, but after a while my prince would come along and save me, defeating whoever got in his way. That one day I’d take my hair out of bobble imprisonment, and swish it around my shoulders, and everyone would do a double take. They would all notice me for the first time, and the boy I’d always loved would come after me, defeating anything that got in his way.

I believed this all the way through my childhood, just knowing if I waited long enough that the person of my dreams would come along and rescue me from my own hell.
My personal hell, may not be hell to everyone, hence the personal. The lifestyle is normal. Day in and day out I go to school, sit through the same classes, and get through the day doing absolutely nothing but daydreaming. Whatever these people have to say to me doesn’t interest me at all, all their mathematical terms and their protons and neutrons, all their pronouns and adjectives, I couldn’t care less.

The same mindless people, never really listening, never really keeping your deepest secrets, never being truly loyal. I’m not bitter, I just know that reality isn’t as good as people think, and that instead of being at a desk all day I’d rather be at home, reading the books I chose to, not the ones I’m forced to read.

Mundane people, with petty problems.

I have my books to keep me company. My princes and princesses with magic apples and glass slippers. There was a boy who I thought was my saviour, my perfect prince.
Things happened and I realized I wasn’t the only princess wanting him to be my prince. I wasn’t the only girl throwing my hair down for him to climb. I kept faith and I still will. Believing in fairytales is all I have, and all I can do is hope that sometime soon my fairytale will come along and I will be saved. My prince charming will come.