Oh dear. It's been almost a week and I've nothing to write about. Or rather-nothing I wish to write about . . . oh my. Life is a conundrum, an experience, an exchange of ideas and tolerances and expectations and beliefs and . . . it's life. Let's see . . . never one to want to disappoint, let's come up with a story.
Once upon a time there was a girl who lived in a forest. This was an ordinary forest except for one thing . . . there were no trees. This forest was full. It was hard to navigate and explore, so dense and full of objects and obstacles it was. But instead of chipmunks, and trees, and salamanders and wood-nymphs, there were only ideas, beliefs and philosophies. And there were paths . . . many . . . to choose.
One day, this forest-princess set out on a journey to become what she should be, and instead, discovered a path of who what she could be, if only she were to open her mind and heart and close her pre-conceptions of the world in front of her and what is was she thought it expected of her and would praise.
And she woke up one morning, her heart light and full of hope and peace, and discovered that she had not felt hopeless about herself, as much as hopeless about that idea. Of life empty of the love of one, who although would never seat her at the right side of the Queen, would seat her at the right side of herself. A life of love, and tenderness, and her heart's beauty . . . none of which had been witnessed in quite that way before.
And it was a splendid thing.