The Magic I Create and the Worlds I Live In

“You still believe in fairy tales?” they ask, as if it’s something I should have outgrown. But here’s the truth — we all live by stories. Some call them faith, some call them myth, some hold them close like whispered dreams in the dark. Stories are the quiet heartbeat behind every belief, every ritual, every small hope that carries us through the day.

So if someone says, “A grown woman, and you still believe in fairy tales?” — I’ll just smile. Because you, a grown man or woman, might believe in tales passed down for centuries: miracles, invisible forces, an unseen judge in the sky. And yet, somehow, my belief in wonder, in magic, in worlds beyond the ordinary is considered childish? Please. Give me a break.

Here’s the thing: I don’t just believe in fairy tales — I create them. I step into worlds woven from sparks of hope and dreams that stir something deep inside me. I live in them, and I love them. For me, fairy tales aren’t an escape. They’re a canvas of possibility, a space where beauty and mystery linger, a reminder that there is always more than meets the eye.

Some people cling to “what’s real,” to practicality and the ordinary, wary of anything that doesn’t fit their mold. But I live in the wild spaces, where imagination runs free and anything is possible. And if my belief unsettles you, ask yourself why. Does a little wonder make you uncomfortable? Or is it because you once believed in something extraordinary too, and forgot how to feel it?

We all choose the stories we live in. I’ve chosen mine. Fairy tales are my breath, my language, my spark. They show me the magic humming just beneath the surface of things. They are as real to me as the air I breathe — a reminder that life doesn’t have to be limited by what we see.

So yes, I still believe in fairy tales. And I’ll always choose wonder over limitation. If that bothers you, maybe it’s time to look within. I’ll keep my stories, my dreams, my magic — because they make life beautiful.

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