You know what? I don't care. I want it back. The dream of romance is worth it. Who cares if it seldom comes true? I want to be the princess again, and so I'll write.
Of course, this is all said in the heat of the moment and after my Barack Obama dream last night where he held my hand and walked with me in the moonlight. How do I put all of that excitement and tenderness on paper when I've been so removed from it for so long? In the rush of my life, it would be difficult to have any romantic illusions at all. Unless I make it up!
And that was my therapeutic breakthrough. I'm not on the page. It's not me. It's pretend. I've been pretending since I was knee high to a grasshopper. So hello fantasy world! Goodbye, sleep!
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