Love Is What Remains

i don't know when it became "het" love, to me. and when... when i forgot my initial dreams of just there being stories about "you" and "me". and a prince could love the princess, or he could love a prince. like in those late-19th-century art-deco-ish fairytale book illustrations, by arthur rackham and edmund dulac and kay nielsen and so on.
i still identify with the pale maiden, sitting alone under a tree, singing to her lost love. it wasn't really about the ending, it was about the searching. "i would cross rivers and mountains and endless deserts for you"...
   every now and then, i just need to replenish that, my source of inspiration, the well of my dreams.

( so here's me free-associating and going nuts with internal dream-world imagery. turned out well, i think. clickety-click if you wanna )