I always find myself foolishly building up a fantasy of a life, one I can never possibly aspire to fulfilling.  I am simply not made to be a fairytale princess.  I don’t possess the charms or grace, let alone the beauty.  There is no prince that can save me when the thunder clouds roll over me, suffocating and pregnant with the dark secrets of yesterday.  I always build the pedestal and push some hapless person up to the heights, but it’s cruel.  Even if he lives up to the image, I will never live up to my part in the play.

When will I ever learn to bury the castle?  It’s only sand, and as Joel says in Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, it’s just tiny rocks.

Day Eighty-Six:  Brick By Boring Brick – Paramore