The Princess and The Pea

It is late, and I've got an early morning ahead of me, but I'm not tired.

I'm about to cry, but I'm not tired.

Ever notice that when one door closes with it's own fated will, it is nearly impossible to open. But when you close a door yourself, it never really truly closes? There's always that gap, that crack of light, that tells you that you can open it again, that it's still there, and it's only one pull away.

What if that door is in the room with you for four hours? What would you do?

Tonight, I felt like a princess, and at times, like a queen. I remember a few times I ducked my head and felt like I didn't belong, or that this was all wrong. But I found strength from somewhere, from my belief that I deserved to have a good time no matter what anyone else thought. So I forced my chin to rise and my shoulders to square themselves, and continued on like any queen would.

I got my title back, officially. I can now see myself not as a hopeful, prospective, and possible fraud princess, but as a true princess of beauty, truth, and justice, worthy of anything I set my heart to.

I commanded the door to stay as shut as possible, and lived and laughed as it was.

So why am I tearing up as I type this?

Because though I know the true princess is me, not the makeup or the crown or the hair or the dress, I still know that this is the last time I will likely look like this, like a princess in every sense of the word. Tomorrow morning, when i wake up, I won't be dolled up and looking like something that stepped out of a fairy tale. I'll look like me, which suddenly isn't enough.

That, and by the time I realized who I could ask to dance, he'd left. And then I found out he came back, but the last song was Don't Stop Believing, and I didn't realize it's purpose as a slow song until it was too late. But it's okay, really, because I didn't like him like that anyways. Still, it would have been nice to dance with him, even if we're in two different bubbles.