Remember?

Do we remember struggle as we once did? Do we recall that the world was never meant to be easy for us? Do we recall that those lucky enough in one aspect of life may not be in another?

We don't have dragons any more. We don't have Vikings. We don't have savages or cruel masters. Not those who read this. And if they do not in the way the books, and the movies show. Not the way the world wants to paint itself.

The monsters are the men and women in clean pressed suits and tall glass towers. The Vikings come as emails or neat paper notices in the mail.

Struggle comes different and this world was meant to show it struggle.

Remember fighting for something? I don't.

Remember feeling oppressed and subjected and fearing for your life? I don't.

Our struggles come different, glamorized, nevertheless we were meant to struggle for we are human and we err and we struggle in our errs.

The world is painted and yet I see through the paint. I see the canvas and board beneath.

What is more beautiful and right then something that is fought for?

We, humans who idolize love, expect it to come neatly, beautifully upon our laps. No shining knight. No fair maiden. The knights come with tarnished armour and worn horses, splintered shields and dulled blades. The maidens come with torn dresses, ragged hands and breath, with a wild look in their eyes, fearful or angry. Not the glimmering. Not the shining. The world, broken and beautiful as it is.

Why do you think we invented fiction? Because it doesn't shine and someone, some poor writer in a dimly lit road watched the world struggle and wished for once no one did so wrote about the happily ever after story in love that we all seek.

They wrote the gritty in-between. They wrote the struggle, the sadness and the tears. The pulled hair and hems, the fists clenched and beat against a wall, a door, a pillow before weak hands unfold in laps and the tears drip into them. They wrote of the fight with the great beast. Of the screaming horse, of the shattered shield and the horror of near death. They wrote of life. Of love. Of the human spirit, beautiful in its imperfection. Its the making of the greatest story. Because of the struggle in-between.

Immediate satisfaction. Immediate resolution. Resolve and you will be absolved. There was a time when these things would take time. When kings and queens would rise and fall for the sake of a lover. For the sake of the heart. To do what they believed was right because we are people and bound by what makes them who they are. They would wait in the world, with the dark around them.

So quick and perfect we expect the world to be in the modern age, that we forget that hearts are for ever the same. They do no evolve. They have always desired the same thing. Love and kindness. Love and kindness. Love and kindness.

We forget that it does not come in a neat package. We forget it does not arrive as a small green frog. It does not come as a easy ride through the woods to kiss the princess. We forget that it does not come as simple and easy. It comes as something to work with and work for.

It comes as a struggle.

Something worth a thousand fights when you know its right. It comes as something so much more special.

Isn't it the fairytale we read about? Isn't it the patience and the most beautiful struggle, of seeing two people who want to be together, come together? Two people defend and love one another is something in fiction made real. It is a struggle, but it will make what will be so much more beautiful.