True Romance

Once upon a time...a female aquaintance asked me if I could write a piece that represented a fairytale, idealised-type view of romance from a female perspective. (Hey, look, it's not the weirdest thing I've ever been asked to do). Anyway, this is what I wrote...and she hated it. What anyone else makes of it, well that's up to them. I wait in hope, hands clasped to breast and sigh a heartfelt sigh of depth generated from my inner child who counts no cost of running wild. Unfettered by the concrete caves of city streets and sweatshop graves, she spins on mountains capped with snow and bears the torch of "never know". For true, I never know what flame may blaze in optimism's name, whilst cynics with a sneer deride I keep my options open wide. I surf the wind that drives the sails of maritime faith and fairy tales and dream the day when I might meet he who sweeps me off my feet. He comes by steed or muscle car to liken me unto the stars, to crush me soft in arms of steel, cement my dreams and make them real. My blood will sing in veins of bliss, my lips will drink the deepest kiss; his life he'd sacrifice to prove, his endless love...the earth would move. If I believe enough to know my will alone might make it so, and so-called schemes of true romance may well come true if left to chance. I wait in hope and close my eyes, with fingers crossed and wishful sighs; my prince, my sweet aristocrat: you have to dream...what's wrong with that?