she still can’t decide
whether it’s better to have loved
and lost her mind
or not to have laughed at lovers before
because sometimes knowing the truth
doesn’t stop you from believing the lie

she clutches her pillow like an old promise
holds it like a tender memory
and reads the eloquent darkness of her room

pain has made her a voyeur
rain drops are Morse code to her
night carries reminder notes from day’s past
she sees his name in sea sand
his body tempts her from river beds
and the wind echoes her lonely cries as she sings…
“someday my prince will come”

she sings it
though she knows the prince she wants
will never come back

she gave him too much too readily
and turning back time is never an option
but if that loop came again
she would slow the tempo
let each moment stretch and develop
riddles and subtext so complicated
he would still be here
trying to figure out whether a melody would emerge
from their random syncopations
whether lust would last long enough
to become love

and she wouldn’t be sitting here
singing
solo
“someday my prince will come”

she still can’t decide
whether it’s wise to have loved
and lost her mind
to have laboured
just to find
that love is a child with no shoes
in a world of invisible thorns
love is a timeless song
played by a feuding band

sometimes the band dies
and the song lives

but sometimes knowing the truth
doesn’t stop you from believing the lie
doesn’t stop her from singing
“someday my prince will come”