Cinderella’s Eyes

The love that is known to the general population is styled after a fairytale; a very beautiful fairytale mind you, but still a tale. The Brothers Grimm retold Cinderella in 1812, so the whole world could take note of the wildly dreamy, yet profoundly unrealistic fairytale that still to this day captivates the whims of little girls, or grown women, of their prince coming to save them from the dark drudgery of life’s heartaches. Men wrote this book. But men have yet to figure out how to save their women. What astounds me though, is how this innocent little story remains being seen and learned, but not dissected. Why, in this era of women’s emancipation, does this tale continue to hold her prisoner to the idea that this fantasy is supposed to be true? And now its significance is so  unconscious that her male counterpart has become a casualty of the same nonsense. Fairytales are useful in the same way that art or music is: they give people a glimpse into a reality of something that is possible, not into something that is real…only something that can possibly become real. What the creators of Cinderella never tell you is what the dream relationship that you are tripping over, entails. Because then it won’t be dreamy. Effort is never dreamy. The idea is for you to sit around as though you were a bump on a log, and dream on; to wait, to yearn, crave, and chase that oh so tasty tale that’s dripping from your lips, that you want so bad, as you waste your life in pursuit of something that is so unlikely to ever grace your table. The truth of love is its possibility, and probability. But the odds of it taking you to great heights become considerably less if you are seeing it through Cinderella’s eyes. dwp

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