moments ♡

magic ♡

It had been fifteen years since the wedding, and she was starting to wonder if the magic was finally gone. He didn’t kiss her awake anymore. Their kisses before he left for work were more hurried obligation than want. Mornings were hurried, and afternoons belonged to the kids. When it was time for bed, they were nearly asleep before their heads hit the pillow.

The magic was gone. It must be.

She had always relished falling asleep wrapped up in him. His arms and his chest and his body had always felt more like home than anything else she had ever known. Now, she fell asleep wherever she could; hopefully, it would be in bed, and preferably, it would be under the covers after a shower.

They didn’t do much together. They functioned as a unit, but that wasn’t the same. She decided what to have for dinner, and he helped her make it. She packed lunches for the kids, and he picked up what they needed from the grocery store. The kids needed help with homework. He helped their daughter ,and she helped their son.

The kids were growing older and stronger and braver and kinder, but their love was growing something vaguely resembling stale.

It must’ve been because the magic had died. It had been so strong in the beginning, and she was sure it would last, but it was slowly becoming weaker.

He had forgotten to kiss her goodbye that morning. He had never done that before. It might’ve been a quick kiss, but it was always a kiss -- a reassuring moment of intimacy in the middle of the hectic chaos of whatever was happening. It hadn’t happened that morning.

Nothing. No kiss. No hug. He hadn’t even reminded her that he loved her. Nothing. He’d just… He’d just left.

Nothing felt right. She couldn’t focus. It was like her worst fears were realized -- that their love had fizzled out enough that he didn’t want to tell her what she meant to him.

The power she’d become accustomed to -- the pure, utter, blinding brilliance of the life they’d created was barely a smoldering ember. There wasn’t a magic wand to fix it. There wasn’t a potion. Like every other thing, magic was work.

And she still believed that true love was the most powerful magic.

She was terrified, though. She felt lost. If she’d ever been sure of anything, it was that he loved her.

Suddenly, she felt less sure. She felt powerless.

When he texted her on his lunch break, she wondered if he realized that he’d forgotten. She wondered if he knew the effect that missing this one little part of their routine was having on her. She hoped he didn’t. She hoped he didn’t feel the way she did. She felt so weak.

Babe: Do I need to run by the store for anything on my way home?

She didn’t know what to say. He didn’t even notice. He didn’t even realize that he’d forgotten. She didn’t realize how much she’d depended on that reassurance until he didn’t give it.

The magic was gone, and he didn’t even miss it.

Focus, she chastised herself. Did they need anything? She needed something from him, but he probably couldn’t find that at the store. She hopped up and checked the fridge. They had chicken and rice for dinner. They had enough turkey, bread, juice drinks, cups of peaches, cheese sticks, and almonds for lunch for the kids the next day. They had enough pancake mix for the next morning. They had milk. They had apple juice. They had coffee creamer.

She quickly answered that they didn’t need anything. They didn’t. She needed so much, but he couldn’t have grabbed it at the grocery store on the way home.

You don’t buy magic in a store. You don’t buy true love at all.

Should she have been more cutesy? Should she have told him that she loved him first? She wondered if it wouldn’t have been as genuine if she’d said it first. She didn’t say it first.

Babe: Ok

Wow. He wasn’t even going to tell her that he loved her? He used to call her every day on his lunch break just to hear her voice. Now, he texted her on his lunch break about making grocery store trips.

She wondered if this was how the mighty loves fell. It wasn’t an explosion. It was just a slow dimming of the kismet and energy and indescribable something that she had taken for granted for so long. Her heart physically hurt when the phone vibrated again.

Babe: I love you. I’ve been off all day, and I think it’s because I didn’t kiss you this morning.

She cried. She cried real, hot tears. She didn’t know how to answer. It bothered him, too. That was good. She was glad he’d noticed. She was glad he felt it, too, even if it hurt.

Babe: I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry. I just… I was in a hurry, and I kissed the kids on the way out, and I was already in the car and down the block before I realized I’d forgotten.

She was still crying. She told him it was okay. She didn’t tell him how it made her feel. She didn’t tell him how sad she was. He didn’t mean to. That was all that she needed to know. He didn’t mean to forget to kiss her. She texted him that she loved him.

Babe: I love you, Babe.
Babe: Gotta go back to work, but I can’t wait to kiss you twice when I get home.

And just like that, she realized that the magic wasn’t gone. If anything, the magic was stronger.

At first, magic only sparkles a little. It tingles and shines and makes things pretty. At first, magic is thrilling. It’s exciting, and it makes people want to explore their might and change the world. At first magic can be scary and intense, but it’s also so empowering. It’s enthralling.

As with anything, though, magic lost its newness. The thrill left. The sparks faded. All that was left was the work -- the responsibility of having a power that no one else has. After a while, magic had to make things happen instead of just making them look brighter.

She figured love was like that, too. The longer it lived, the stronger it became. She supposed that was the way with everything.