Growing up I used to dream a lot. I made plans and lists. I imagined my own house, how big it would be, how many rooms, where I would put every piece of furniture. What books I'd read to my kids at night. How I would be with a boyfriend and then a husband. What car, which holiday destinations, which everything. Despite what people might think right now, this was not an obcessive or paranoid behaviour. At least not when put into perspective. It was a means of escape, of seeing something brighter ahead, in a future when I could take action, when I was the grown up. It was a way to pass time, time that I had to spend on my own, alone.
But this is not supposed to be a pity post. What I mean to say is that a big part of me was invested in this. So now that I can see it, now that I have a special person by my side it wouldn't be fair to all those girls that I used to be (from the little one that started to dream at three years of age to the lonely teenager locked up in her room) to deny them the dream. So I let them. I let them play in the sand of our relationship and build castles as they please. Because that's all it is. Sand castles. I prefer letting them play and run free than shutting them out at the sight of hope. And in time they will grow tired of playing and will go to sleep. Happy and ready to let go of their safety blanket.
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