a/n: so this is not a poem, but this is something that I wrote for creative writing and even though this is my poetry book, I reallyyyyyyyy wanted to post this so yeah, it's just a short realistic blurb thing about magic (: 

It was as if he was magic; he had cast a spell on me in the simplest form. He was being himself and I felt intoxicated; I was drowning in his eyes, stunned by his smile, and enchanted by the way he said my name. He was magic.

If I could go back, I would cherish him more; I would hang on to his every word, his every syllable, I would memorize his smile and the way his lips would always curve up into a grin as I can barely remember it now, and I would talk for hours just to watch him listen and laugh at my pathetic jokes. The mere thought of him still makes me happier than ever. He made me feel magical.

We used to talk for hours upon hours until one of us would fall asleep. It was almost like a competition; we'd see who would crack first and admit to being tired or who would fall asleep while talking on the phone. He became a significant part of my life. He would always tell me, 'No star will ever shine as bright as you do.' I would always accept his extremely cheesy words and respond with an adoring smile. He adored me and I adored him. We were magic.

He would leave his friends just to talk to me, even if I had very little to say. I used to love it when he hugged me; he was comforting and he smelled like pine, transporting me to the forest so I could get lost with him. He would always whisper things in my ear so others couldn't hear what we had to say to each other. He said it was more intimate and mysterious that way. Nobody knew the way we felt. We felt magical.

Have you ever had that moment when you have such a realistic dream that it almost feels real? Like you dream that you're in space, but then you wake up and feel like you're still in space. So when you wake up, you're confused and kind of upset that you're not in space anymore. I wish that was what was happening to me. This wasn't just a dream. Instead, this is reality, not some make pretend of a child's fairytale inspired dreams. One day I woke up and he was gone. The magic was gone. I wanted to laugh because it felt like a joke. I wanted to cry because I felt broken. The walls caved in and I didn't make it out in time. We lost the magic.

Magic is a belief. Is it real or are we all just letting ourselves get fooled? I was a fool that believed every word he said. Don't get me wrong, I don't regret a single thing because he has definitely taught me things. I've learned that magic is a belief and it's merely a decision in which you choose to believe in magic or you choose to not believe in magic. I don't believe in magic.

I've come to realize that magic isn't fairy godmothers or wizards that make potions and have wands or turn pumpkins into carriages if you're really lucky; It's more like cutting a woman in half, tricking the audience to make it look real, to make it feel real. To just sit in a crowd and let yourself believe that the girl with the wide smile and sparkly red dress just got cut in half, that she is truly in two pieces as we speak, that in all actuality the top half of her is on one side of the room while the bottom half of her is placed in the center of the room as you stare in disbelief, waiting for the blood or the unconsciousness to take into affect. So you sit there and stare in disbelief at the broken woman on stage, frightened that she's truly broken and there is no plausible way to fix her, it's not like you can just so her back together and call her completely fixed. The only thing that truly breaks is the trust you might've had when you realize that this is fake, and she wasn't actually cut in half at all; she remained in one piece the entire time. Yet a part of you wants to believe it when the trick is over and she's back to being in just one piece. You can believe in magic if you choose to, but deep down, we all know that it's not real, that it could never be real. Love is magical, he was magical. It's a shame that magic is not real.

Going back to the woman in the sparkly dress that gives you hope, and how he made me feel magical, and how she was in two pieces, and he broke me into two pieces, severing the trust I had in him and my innocent heart that was too naive to believe that he could ever be the one to hurt me so badly, making me feel the way I feel right now, the way I continue to feel. He destroyed the illusion that is magic, while the girl in the sparkly dress gives you hope. You hope that she'll go back to being one piece, even though it seems completely impossible and illogical that someone who was just sawed in half could go back to being one piece that easily; you hope that you'll be able to trust again some day down the road.

 If magic really existed, it wouldn't be the magic exhibited in fairy-tales or magic tricks; the real magic is how no matter what happens, whether you get your heart broken, or someone loses your trust, it's that you're still in one piece, just like the lady in the box. You continuously feel like you're getting cut in half, yet you always manage to remain in one piece. That's the real magic.

C.V.