They ask me why it takes so much to get me to swoon these days. I tell them: That’s what happens when you get older.
They tease me. They joke around saying that when you get older, you lose the ability to spot magic. I laugh along. I don’t try to convince them.
The truth is that by the time you get older, you know. Somewhere, deep down, you know what magic really looks like. You are no longer awed by cheap tricks and illusions.
By the time you get older, you become an expert at separating the real from the fake. You can spot an imposter from afar; you know intuitively if a person is built for love. True love. The kind you’re holding out for.
By the time you get older, you stop sticking around for the show. The rabbit getting pulled out of the hat loses its thrill.
By the time you get older, you are done. You stop fanning sparks into flames; instead, you teach your mind to build stories on truth.
By the time you get older, you know somewhere within you that true magic is bigger than sorcerers and spells. You know that it is a gradual unfolding, the first bud of certainty, with a person who – unlike the glorified magicians of our times – won’t be scared to share the secrets they keep up their sleeves.