Some Day My Prince Will Come

We would sit by the fireplace and drink hot cocoa with marshmallows, while soft jazz plays from the stereo. He would take my withered hand and put it on his chest as we’d go by our times together. As the minutes pass, he’d start nodding off, and I’d be left with a snoring bald head.

We would prepare supper together, he’d be the main chef and I’d be the one who pretends to know how to cook. We would go to the grocery store together, pushing a cart side-by-side, finding bargains and using the coupons from the daily paper. We’d play Bingo, we’d host tea parties, we’d visit our children across the world.

At night we’d smile as we put on our pyjamas. We’d sleep side by side, and I’d feel his arm drape over my body.

Some day, we’d do all that.

My prince is not a prince. He is not rich. He is not political. He is someone who simply would treat me as a princess.

Some day. Not today. Today, I’m free, I’m young and I’m vibrant, immersed in my singleness. I go to bars, get drunk, and get laid. But it is that final moment before I sleep when I dream of the man I grow old with.


This is the 100 Songs Project, a 100-day writing challenge based on AFI’s 100 Years…100 Songs. Every day, I write a short poem, prose piece, or play based on, reacting to, rejecting, accepting, or doing something related to one of the songs in the top 100 list.

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