I Wished For Her,” He Says.

And Now, I'm A Best Selling Author, A Different Sort Of Fairy Tale That I Still Sometimes Wonder When I'll Wake Up From.

You Think, As You Walk Away From Le Cirque Des Rêves And Into The Creeping Dawn, That You Felt More Awake Within The Confines Of The Circus. You Are No Longer Quite Certain Which Side Of The Fence Is The Dream.

You Can Say Anything With A Post-it. I’m Not Entirely Sure Why That Is. Maybe The Friendliness Of The Squares Makes It Easier. A Square Is Nicely Compact And Less Intimidating Than A Full Page. And They Come In Cheerful Colors. Non-white Paper Is Kind Of Inherently Festive. Or Maybe Paper That Sticks Feels More Important Than Paper That Can Blow Away. (though You Can Move Them, If You Need To Put Them Somewhere Else.) They Might Not Be As Lasting As Words Carved In Stone, But Post-it Thoughts Will Stay. For Awhile, At Least.

This Is, In Part, Why There Is Less Magic In The World Today. Magic Is Secret And Secrets Are Magic, After All, And Years Upon Years Of Teaching And Sharing Magic And Worse. Writing It Down In Fancy Books That Get All Dusty With Age Has Lessened It, Removed Its Power Bit By Bit.

To Be Rather Than To Seem.