Turns out the love stories were all just two dimensional.
Whether on screen or on the pages of a book
they didn’t stand up to scrutiny
and so when I became more confident and certain of my own rights
to inspect these accounts more closely
I lifted them up and turned them on their head and they simply
vanished to paper thin lines, insubstantial and easily woven around a finger.
These “love stories” were florid as finger paintings
pleasant as warm milk in the evening before bedtime
and as time made me more aware I started to perceive
that all was never what it seemed in such alluringly sentimental
stories of dashing knights smashing dragons into smithereens
and beautifully ornamented princess’s laying on deathbed’s in
marble cold insentient bliss waiting for the hero’s hot kiss
to wake then up before dreamily riding off into a pale pink sunset
Together. As time passed I began to scoff at these powder puff portrayals-
these limpid ladies and haughty presumptuous dragon slayers.
But– what were love stories if not these fairy-tales?
What were the real love stories
and what were they made up of if not knights and princesses?
I resolved to go out there and find out for myself.