I guess it's time again for Destiny to sort out the things I had never thought otherwise possible.
It was then, and though it may be too soon to say, so it is now.
I once told Mom the most wonderful faculty we possess is not the power to remember but the facility to forget. I suppose I've turned into a clump of scar tissue as I aged -- the dead membranes clotting into a nothing can hurt or touch. I am unfazed, unmoved, unfeeling. Occasionally, my tears shock me.
But how long can I go on like this?
It's not easy waiting for my 'perfect-ten-princess'. She's unattainable, and secretly, I can wager she does not exist. In a way, I have sealed my fate. My destiny is that -- to wait.
But when I try going easy on that scale, it gets scary. An eight out of ten or a seven and a half is princess enough. I will even bargain on that number.
And once I do, contenders loom from among the dust of fingermarked albums. Some from the grim cogs of memory. Some from the reams of fairytales I have unrepentantly woven -- Cinderellas I have stood up at the stroke of midnight. And Sleeping Beauties I have let lie.
Because then I never had a white horse to ride. Or clinking armour to hide beneath. Because then I never needed those trappings.
You know, I get this awful creepy feeling I might just have passed up my perfect-ten-princess.
Not once.
Not twice.
Not three times.
Always.
Always. Because she doesn't live in a fairytale. She could have been looking over my shoulder, and I might never have known. She may have been encrypting kisses into her drab, and I might never have known. She may have been the one smiling across at me from counters -- at the bank, at the mall, at the airport check-in. And I might never have known. Perhaps I never will. Because my life may just be a semi-ironic story of missed chances. Half-hearted offerings wasted at the altar.
And I find it convenient simply to blame Destiny. Or I may never find the courage to go on. And maybe in the end, it is Destiny who will be my consort. I wonder what she looks like. Going by her antecedents, I shudder to think.
It was then, and though it may be too soon to say, so it is now.
I once told Mom the most wonderful faculty we possess is not the power to remember but the facility to forget. I suppose I've turned into a clump of scar tissue as I aged -- the dead membranes clotting into a nothing can hurt or touch. I am unfazed, unmoved, unfeeling. Occasionally, my tears shock me.
But how long can I go on like this?
It's not easy waiting for my 'perfect-ten-princess'. She's unattainable, and secretly, I can wager she does not exist. In a way, I have sealed my fate. My destiny is that -- to wait.
But when I try going easy on that scale, it gets scary. An eight out of ten or a seven and a half is princess enough. I will even bargain on that number.
And once I do, contenders loom from among the dust of fingermarked albums. Some from the grim cogs of memory. Some from the reams of fairytales I have unrepentantly woven -- Cinderellas I have stood up at the stroke of midnight. And Sleeping Beauties I have let lie.
Because then I never had a white horse to ride. Or clinking armour to hide beneath. Because then I never needed those trappings.
You know, I get this awful creepy feeling I might just have passed up my perfect-ten-princess.
Not once.
Not twice.
Not three times.
Always.
Always. Because she doesn't live in a fairytale. She could have been looking over my shoulder, and I might never have known. She may have been encrypting kisses into her drab, and I might never have known. She may have been the one smiling across at me from counters -- at the bank, at the mall, at the airport check-in. And I might never have known. Perhaps I never will. Because my life may just be a semi-ironic story of missed chances. Half-hearted offerings wasted at the altar.
And I find it convenient simply to blame Destiny. Or I may never find the courage to go on. And maybe in the end, it is Destiny who will be my consort. I wonder what she looks like. Going by her antecedents, I shudder to think.
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