The thread between believing and not believing, constantly pulled in both directions - you grew up watching all those perfectly crafted fairy tales, with just the perfect figured princesses, and charming, funny and loyal as ever princes, with the perfect summer afternoons and just the right amount of sadness and trouble to go with it all. If only our lives were concocted with the right amounts of happiness, sadness and love...but they aren't. The pain always seems to outnumber the happy times. Love always falls short. Belief accounts to nothing.
We continue believing. Even the pessimist believe that someday, someone will come and rescue then from their disbelief, just like it happens in the movies. We wait for someone to not tell, but show everyday, again and again, how loved we are. What are we made of then, if not only our unending beliefs?