
She climbs the spiral staircase, each step
an echo bouncing off lifeless walls.
Up in the cold watchtower, she gazes
out a small window. Her eyes settle on
the fields below—playgrounds
with their swings and slides and spinners.
Pretty, pink-cheeked princesses are
laughing, running, building
sandcastles—kingdoms—with their fathers.
Fathers, they who step into knighthood,
guarding little crowns until they ascend
to mighty queens. She ponders why her own
never wanted to pledge
his allegiance to her fading
crown, why he never cared enough
to push her on a swing,
letting the winds sing, run, dance alongside
her braids. She wonders if once, she too
could have shone beneath her fallen kingdom’s
sun.


Comments (1)
Aww, such a sad story. Longing for a connection everyone has.