You often find yourself wondering why the world is so bewitched with the idea of magic.
It doesn't exist.
Children don't need to fear the monster under the bed. Teenagers shouldn't be waiting for their vampire saviour to sweep them off their feet, and adults should have grown out of the impish ideas that plague the minds of the human race.
Yet they haven't.
Your brother is one who still believes in the thrill of magic.
You watch him collecting wood as burning amber glows behind the shadowy forms of the trees. He places larger pieces around the fire pit in a sort of haphazard circle. A childlike eagerness simmers in his eye as a small grin toys at his lips. The descending darkness shelters endless mystery in its folds and the secrets it possesses are worth more than liquid starlight. In your brother's eyes at least...
For you, the darkness isn't welcoming. It brings the nagging cold air that wracks your body with violent shivers and swarms of blood-thirsty insects nibbling at you whilst you desperately scratch them off... You wish you were at home, tucked up under your covers, freshly painted nails drying in front of you.
Instead, you watch as the first few spectators trickle in from between the trees, following the glowing, skipping embers of the fire warming up for the main event.
They're young, all holding that youthful glimmer of expectation and naivety in the palms of their soft hands. They still believe that there could be something out there.
You don't.
It was a long time ago when you did. You remember sitting in the seats of the cinema, neck stretching to see past the person in front, just for a glance at the magic playing out before you. Eyes wide. Those people had such power. Such endless possibilities... Growing life from their fingertips or singeing the grass with their fiery touch.
It didn't take long for you to figure out you could do nothing of the sort. You couldn't fly or read minds or do anything like the people on that screen.
You couldn't do magic.
Watching those children huddle close to the fire, expecting to be enthralled, you feel pity. Their hopes would fall, just like yours.
And your brother was going to let that happen.
The last few stragglers lingered around the edge of the circle, peering out of the darkness like curious owls, their bright eyes stark contrast to the abyss all around. Night had finally fallen.
Your brother began speaking, his voice shattering the crisp silence.
Immediately those little, bright eyes lit up. They leaned forwards and came to a complete hush. Was it respect? No. It was admiration and amazement at the words pouring out of your brother's mouth; lyrics in a beautiful, dreadful song.
Looking at those eyes and those slightly open mouths your mind softens...
Anything that puts that look on their little faces shouldn't be ignored. Magic gives those eyes that light; whether it is real or not. Maybe it doesn't have to be all sparks and mysterious powers. Maybe what you're watching now is magic. Maybe magic is the power to give you an imagination, to create the possibility of creation. Or maybe magic is that inspiration. The inspiration flickering in those eye and smiles, in those fingers itching to touch the impossible.
You hadn't come here tonight to change your mind. But it had been opened. Re-opened.
Magic may not be exactly how your childhood remembers it, but it dances right before you in those grinning flames.
