I believe magic exists.

I’ve tasted it.

As a child, it came to me easily. It wound itself around my fingertips and danced before my eyes like fireflies. But as I grew older, its notes became harder to hear.

Or maybe, I tried too hard to tune it out.

Even so, I know glimpses of it slipped through.

That giddy feeling you have getting ready for a school dance – magic.

Sensing an audience still because of your song or solioquy before erupting in applause – magic.

Seeing your friends wait up for you with big smiles – magic.

Holding hands with a boy – magic.

Cradling your baby nephew in your arms for the first time – magic.

Back then, I didn’t fully realize that’s what it was. Now that I’m grown, it’s like the magic is whispering louder…and I’m finally willing to hear it again.

Breathing in the bite of a snowstorm.

Shuddering with a conspiratory grin under thunder’s rumble.

Hearing the cacophony of birdsong.

Smelling the luminous quality of fresh lilac.

Feeling the damp earth crumble and coat my fingers.

Locking eyes with a herd of deer.

Watching a hawk glide silently through the evening sky.

Being startled by an equally startled fox.

Covering your beloved in heady, wine-soaked kisses.

Devouring a book like it’s chocolate.

Walking through the door of your childhood home.

In moments like these, I’m the child I once was–reverently chanting to the TV screen that “I do believe in fairies.”

In moments like these, I feel like I’m more than just myself.

In moments like these, I believe in magic.

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