You know how every other fairytale is about a princess who is locked away in her castle, separated from her Prince Charming by walls of thorns, or dragons, or maybe even an entire enchanted evil forest? It’s always the evil witch or stepmother or whatever who casts the curse on the poor princess. In no version of the story is the princess ever responsible for building those walls.
Well, what if the princess was the one who built all these insurmountable obstacles? What if she built them because she was sick and tired of all these princes thinking they’re entitled to her hand just because they carry large swords?
Does she need saving? Does she need a Prince Charming to rescue her from herself?
I don’t think so.
In my version of the fairytale, the princess isn’t some docile little creature who is pathetically waiting for someone to burst into their life and bring them true love or happiness. In my version of the fairytale, the prince would ride up to the castle, see the walls, and understand they were not meant to be destroyed.
Why would he destroy the walls that she spent so long building? He would instead, ask her to come out of the castle. Because, well, she isn’t stupid and probably left some gates in the walls. No one would want to be locked away in a castle in complete isolation for the rest of their lives unless they truly wish to experience hell on earth. Besides, it’d probably be easier to ask her to unlock the gates than to destroy the walls by burning, bulldozing, or swinging into it with a wrecking ball. And hey, maybe there can be a happily ever after without wrecking havoc, who knows.
I don’t even know why I’m writing about this. It’s almost like I’m only writing this so I can reduce everything in real life into a simple story that I can just glance over once and never return to again. The past few years have taught me a lot, almost too much.
My favorite quote from the Great Gatsby is “I love large parties, they’re so intimate”. So here I am, sharing some of my most intimate thoughts with the void that is the internet. A slice of my thoughts, raw to the point of bloody and forever walking the fine line between naive and terrifying. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
What happened above is an episode of my drunk sporadic thoughts.