English Tale

Some days I like to imagine I’m in some epically grandiose English tale.  A tale where the heroine is too smart, and too lonesome in her imaginings to be understood. A handsome tale of a man who sees through the tiresome gossip of the people in the small minded village and falls for her. But it’s a meeting of souls, not just of a damsel in distress. For she’s not in distress. She’s fine and happy in her solitude and doesn’t want the intrusion of someone just for the mere presence of ‘someone.’ Sometimes I like to think that I’m that heroine. Special and destined for something greater. But I’m not. And...