When I was eight, or even eighteen, it was a lot easier to be a princess.
It was a lot easier to believe in castles and kingdoms, heroism and battles won, legend, undiscovered lands, epic romance and adventure.
Even for a dreamer, it can be hard to dream when pain creeps into the mundane, rendering it not only mundane, but burdensome. You stop wanting to, Eowyn-like, pick up your sword and ride to war, believing in victory.
Every once in awhile, something will remind me of the burning in my heart for greater things--the beauty and romance that I know is bound up somewhere, if only in Heaven--and I take one breath of that refreshing air that used to sustain me all the time.
I'm thankful for those breaths, though they fade quickly in this season. God's not through writing this story yet.