The Princess of the Castle / La Princesa del Castillo by Barandalla (via Flickr)
Sometimes I think about princesses. The ones in fairy tales that scores of princes came to prove their valor for. I think about how a princess must have grown up, always knowing that someday this test would be placed before the men of lands near and far because her hand wasn't just any hand-- it was worth fighting for. I think about what it must have felt like to stand at the window and see them all parading up to the castle door, seeing what each one brought, what tools or props were packed to aid in the test before them.
I wonder if the princess ever picked a favorite, ever had one she was really rooting for. I'm sure it must have gotten tiring watching them all come, and how she must have secretly hoped for some of them to fail. But I wonder if any of them ever caught her eye. I wonder if there was ever something about the way one of them looked at her, or the way one bowed before her father, or a certain something in the way another one stood that captured her attention. How her heart may have started to race with the idea, the thought, the hope and the anticipation that finally-- finally!-- this could be the one! This could be the one brave enough and strong enough and smart enough to tear down the castle walls that kept her royal prisoner.
...And how it must have felt to see them fail. To see them drop in the middle of a race or tap out in the middle of a fight. The grief and shame they felt were probably no match for the flood of lonely disappointment that must have filled the chambers of her heart.
Oh the pain. To know one's worth and know no one worthy enough to own it. Is there anything more wounding to the heart?
I wonder if the princess ever picked a favorite, ever had one she was really rooting for. I'm sure it must have gotten tiring watching them all come, and how she must have secretly hoped for some of them to fail. But I wonder if any of them ever caught her eye. I wonder if there was ever something about the way one of them looked at her, or the way one bowed before her father, or a certain something in the way another one stood that captured her attention. How her heart may have started to race with the idea, the thought, the hope and the anticipation that finally-- finally!-- this could be the one! This could be the one brave enough and strong enough and smart enough to tear down the castle walls that kept her royal prisoner.
...And how it must have felt to see them fail. To see them drop in the middle of a race or tap out in the middle of a fight. The grief and shame they felt were probably no match for the flood of lonely disappointment that must have filled the chambers of her heart.
Oh the pain. To know one's worth and know no one worthy enough to own it. Is there anything more wounding to the heart?
2 comments:
Hey Jess, thanks for sharing. You do tell the story of many girls hearts so well here. Maybe you have heard the suggestion before that perhaps you should write a book.... I love ya, girl.
This was hard to read. You see, there's blood in my eyes, dragon blood. I've been slaying DRAGONS all day.
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