The White Knight

.   .   .

Once upon a time in a far away kingdom lived a beautiful princess. She was an intelligent girl who loved everything about life. She was musically gifted, singing like a lark and dancing to the beat of her own heart. Her mind was filled with glorious adventures and exciting imaginative tales. Her eyes were green like the emeralds on her father’s, the great King’s fingers, her lips as red the wild strawberries, and her hair strong and thick like a lion’s mane. Legend had it that when the princess smiled, the stars whirled across the night sky, and the moon even winked from time to time. She was simply radiant.

Her favorite story of all time was the one her mother, the Queen, told her about the White Knight. The White Knight was the strongest, bravest, and most honored cavalier in all the land. He battled fire-breathing dragons, climbed the tallest of mountains, and survived the harshest of climates. He was supposedly brilliant, romantic, and very, very handsome. However, he never removed his helmet, claiming that he would only reveal himself to his one true love when the time came.

One day, a letter arrived addressed to the princess. It was from the White Knight! The letter read that he wished to see her, that she may be the one. The princess’ eyes lit up and she ran quickly to her dressing room, looking for her finest dress. She glanced in the mirror at her untamed hair, twisting, braiding, until it softened into fine curls and a gentle bun. She spun once, then twice, then three times. Perfect. She thought.

She glided down the staircase with ease, and behold, waiting for her at the bottom of the steps was the elusive White Knight.

“How do you do, my lady?” He said with a bow.

“Well sir.” She curtsied, holding her composure, but slightly smiling, peeking up to catch a glimpse of his face.

“Sir Knight, I allow you to keep my daughter company tonight until the clock strikes midnight. Later than that and you shall fear the consequences.”

“Your majesty, your daughter will return safely, that be assured.”

The King and Queen smiled, as their beautiful princess waved goodbye.

It was a cool calm night, filled with exceptional conversations, witty banter, and flirtatious remarks on both sides.

“Sir Knight, may I ask you a question?”


“When can I see you, really see you?”

“You do see me. You see what you want to see of me. I am a part of your fairytale. The perfect parts folded into a human figure. I am what you want me to be. A knight in shining armor, here to rescue you from distress, from pain, from heartbreak. This is just imagination…(*echoes).”

.  .  .

The great thing about fairytales are always the endings. “And they lived happily, ever, after. THE END…” They make love, living, everything sound so easy. The damsel in distress waiting for prince charming to save her…

Excuse me, but I’d like to get a check on reality, please?

I may consider myself a hopeless romantic, but I’m certainly not that hopeless…or romantic. Then again, who am I kidding?

In a sense, I’ve become bitter about love. I have met my White Knight many of times. Seeing something that wasn’t truly there. Believing that he was perfect. Hoping that he would be the one to rescue me, not from a place on a map, but from my feelings of despair, from my fear of being alone. But in the truth of it all, I was a pawn in a wicked game of forgive and forget.

It is true, “we accept the love we think we deserve.” Ironic, don’t you think? We imagine our future partner to be what we consider perfect, our valiant knight in shining armor…and the sad thing is, when this person comes around, we can’t help but deny our brokenness.

Tell me, what hurts more: loving someone that doesn’t love you back? Or, having someone love you, but deep down truly knowing they deserve better?

“She wasn’t bitter. She was sad, though. But it was a hopeful kind of sad. The kind of sad that just takes time.”

.   .   .

If there’s a twinkle in her eye, you know she’s made of greater things than just crowned jewels and romantic songs. She’s made of the brightness of the stars themselves, the saltiness of the ocean, the sweetness of the jungle fruit, and the warmth of the rising sun…And that is not a figment of the imagination, for beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

Me... and the stars by Georgos Tsamakdas - Landscapes Starscapes ( milkyway, girl, stars, night, lonely )



Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s