Do You Believe in Magic?

I always was writing stories.
I remember writing this one story when I was younger inspired by my Grandma. It was about a wishing well.
There was this little girl who was staying at her Grandma's house for the summer and at night, her Grandma would sit beside her on the bed and they would name all the teddy bears lined up on the shelf for the tenth time that night and Grandma would sing.
Right behind the house there was this well, and one day the Grandma gave the little girl a special coin to throw into the well, something she'd gotten as a girl. And so the little girl threw this coin into the well and made a wish. She wished for her family to be together. And, ending as all good fairytales do, the story ended with the little girl's parents coming home and her family getting to be together.
I remember writing this story, with all my spelling mistakes and grammatical errors, and thinking about my Grandma. I thought about the nights I would sleep over at their house and fall asleep on her pale pink sheets after naming her teddy bears for the tenth time that night as she would sing softly to me.
This was back when life was magical, when fairytales came true and little girls could grow wings and fly. In fairytales, anything could happen. Ordinary girls could become princesses and mice could sew dresses and dancing around the living room with Grandma was like being at a ball.
There was this one day back when I was in fifth grade and I was doing my math and I was so frustrated and mad. And then Grandma would come and she would tell me that I needed to do my best and keep a positive attitude and maybe one day I wouldn't hate math so much. That didn't really happen, but she did tell me something else. She told me that even if there was this one thing I hated, there would be more things I loved, and I needed to hold onto those things. Love always wins.
My Grandma taught me about fairytales. She taught me about playing jokes and dancing around the living room and love.
And then somewhere along the way I lost that belief in fairytales. Stories didn't always have happy endings and life wasn't all magical mice and dancing in the living room at the ball.
There was no one there to remind me to believe in love and a little magic. And so I just forgot.
But before she died, my Grandma gave me this snow globe. Inside is 2 little birds and when you wind it up it plays His eye is on the Sparrow. I keep it on my bookshelf and on those days when I'm feeling less than magical, I shake it up and turn it on and let it play. Sometimes I'll twirl around my room, pretending I'm 6 again. Sometimes I'll just watch the snowflakes fall.
But by the time the song ends I'm reminded of a world where things are much more magical than they first seem. Where I'm never too old to believe in Once Upon A Time.
I never told her how the story ends. But here's a little hint:
Dear Grandma: Once upon a time your little girl learned to fly.