You and I - incurable romantics -
Moved by beautiful songs
That speak our words for us.
Telling our dreams, our feelings,
In angelic voices.
Black words on white pages -
Perfect poetry.

Did these dreams come
From a lonely childhood
Immersed in books
With fairy tale endings
And stories of ideal love?
We took refuge in these stories
And we still cling to hope.

Were we Cinderella
Longing for her prince;
Her escape from slavery.
Gaining the freedom to love
And be loved. Unconditionally.
We dream of him still;
Wondering if he will ever come.

Or were we Sleeping Beauty
Lying palely in almost-death
Waiting for that kiss
From a black-haired,
Blue eyed, handsome man
Which would restore us to life again?
We yearn for our imaginary lovers.

Or maybe we were Beauty
Shackled to her Beast.
Certain that our love had the power
To transform the monster
With a kiss, an embrace.
Defying external appearances
To reveal the true heart within.

We are told we are stupid idealists.
That perfect love cannot exist -
That wewill never be the princess.
So how do you tell your heart
That it must settle for second best?
When you know it's somewhere out there -
That happy ever after.