Of Peas and Princesses
Its one of those days; a slow sun rising, halted in its climb. A steady breeze promising more and expectation not met. It did rain a trickle at night though. As of morning, nothing.
The Princess in me is slowly dying. Its a torturous murder. Slow poisoning by reality.
As a rule I have refused to sleep in a crumbled bed. It has surprised many bed fellows. First Zareen and as of the last eight years, Shahid. Waking from the bed, the sheets must be ordered before returning. Hair must be made. Make-up removed. One must maintain a semblance of Princely-ness on retiring for the night.
But as of late my bones are so wary, my body so racked that I fall into bed in the most graceless, unprincess-like manner. Before, where the little wrinkle disturbed though the night, now one could leave a hedgehog in bed with me and the nettles wouldn't pinch. This is a tragedy since there little in life that entertains and warms more than illusions. And when the illusion breaks, reality is a hard cushion to fall back into. All lumps and blotchy edges.
The Princess in me is slowly dying. Its a torturous murder. Slow poisoning by reality.
As a rule I have refused to sleep in a crumbled bed. It has surprised many bed fellows. First Zareen and as of the last eight years, Shahid. Waking from the bed, the sheets must be ordered before returning. Hair must be made. Make-up removed. One must maintain a semblance of Princely-ness on retiring for the night.
But as of late my bones are so wary, my body so racked that I fall into bed in the most graceless, unprincess-like manner. Before, where the little wrinkle disturbed though the night, now one could leave a hedgehog in bed with me and the nettles wouldn't pinch. This is a tragedy since there little in life that entertains and warms more than illusions. And when the illusion breaks, reality is a hard cushion to fall back into. All lumps and blotchy edges.
Comments
Since I can't access your blog and have no way of knowing who you are, I must contend to reply here in the hope you will see this. I don't think there really is a woman-like or men-like version to anything. Life is without gender biases. It screws everybody with the random hand of probability.
That cynical philosophy aside I think here I am just poking fun at my own anal-ness and at being forced to give up on it.
Then again, I do not profess any profundity, so maybe I'm just ranting.
:)
Who knows.
(PS Thanks for taking interest, who ever you are)