I remember the first time I watched Cinderella. I was in Kindergarten and for two hours that afternoon, I was completely entranced. The blonde hair, the blue eyes, the kindness in her voice; she was the original girl next door. At least for me.

In the years to come, I would re-watch the cartoon classic and revel in its sticky sweetness, until that hallow day.

I was at my local bookstore, one August afternoon, when a young girl and her mother decided to sit at the table next to me. They had a pile of books and two hot chocolates, ready to read. They began with Shel Silverstein, my favorite poet, and when the equally nonsensical and outlandish prose were too much for the young girl, they found their way home to the classic. The mother began reading the story of Cinderella as the hot chocolate dripped from their mugs, and I found myself eavesdropping the entire time. As every page turned a new character was introduced, and like a movie you’ve seen a million times, you still secretly wished the storyline would change.

But just like clockwork, midnight came and Cinderella made her grand exit from the castle, fleeing out the front door and down the staircase. Prince Charming hot on her feet.

I sipped my coffee and continued writing in my journal, when the little girl uttered, “If the glass slipper was a perfect fit, why did it fall off?”

I looked up from my Moleskin, glanced over at the mother and quickly back to my coffee and waited to hear a response. The mother quickly assured her, “The slipper was a perfect fit, she was just in a hurry, so sometimes when we’re in a hurry we lose things.”

No. I wasn’t buying it. This little girl, not even half way through grade school, just completely debunked one of the greatest love stories of all time.

“If the glass slipper was a perfect fit, why did it fall off?”

I think this is a question every relationship faces.

You start a relationship with heavy eyes. Like a road trip through the night. Slowly drifting in and out, praying to God you don’t hit anything. And yet as you watch the sun rise and you greet your destination with safety, a sense of euphoria suddenly washes over you. You made it. And all the “good morning texts” and paying for movie tickets was worth it. And after that phase quickly deteriorates, you find yourself in a rhythm. Your toothbrush finds its way into his bathroom. And his favorite ice cream finds his way into your freezer. And his quirks seem to magnify your impatience. And you begin to eat at the same place every Thursday night. And watch the same television show every Tuesday night and discuss it afterwards. And he sleeps too late while you washes dishes too loud. And suddenly these patterns begin to form and these ideas of living without someone’s quirks and nuances begins to frighten one another. You begin to romanticize them. And the sense of urgency that once did not exist, quickly becomes a flashing red light in the night. So he makes a proposition. And you spend too much money on a dress and vow your life to each other, one night. And you dance that same night. And you spend your parent’s money to travel somewhere the next day, because nothing says true love like a beach trip. And you return the following week, back into that pattern. Until one day, you lose your job. And he gains fifty pounds. And you begin to wonder, when is a good time to have kids? When is a good time to start saving? When is a good time to start dance lessons? When is a good time to go on vacation? Can we even afford a vacation? And all these questions slowly begin to creep in and all you can do is hope you answer them with some sort of assurance.

Because loving someone is work. Loving someone is blind, because love requires you to listen. And sometimes listening is the last thing we want to do. Because what once was magical and whimsical, and Pinterest approved, slowly becomes the alarm clock of reality, ringing too loud.

Loving someone isn’t always the fairytale we were promised. Hell, sometimes it’s the exact opposite. But even on the hardest days, the days where the glass slipper doesn’t just fall off, it shatters into a million pieces, you have to fight for it to fit. You have to find the glue, buried under the crap in that kitchen drawer, and put it back together piece by piece. Because a life with no fight in it, isn’t a life worth living. And a life without love, well, I don’t want to imagine what that’s like.

So, all I can hope for, is that you know you deserve a love like that. A love that makes you better. A love that has a little magic and a whole lot of fight in it.