I used to be a perfect builder at a very tender age and this was out of the fear to explore my true talent. Diana was the belle of my future hope and without the courage I most required, I could only dream of our special romance in a special environment I had built inside my mind. I would kiss her slender soft lips with her gentle caress that flushed down my zeal to have her as my own.
The way she walked, the way she smiled, over and over, the way she brushed her silky dark hair back. I most desired a woman of her graceful stature and beauty. I rode on the horse rich men on and I felt confident to halt at her door step with a diamond ring and a scrap of a poem I made out for her alone.
It is always the same dream and for all these years, nothing about her had changed. Same black hair and almond beady eyes that were fashioned in Arabian colors. I longed to savor her rich beauty as my wife and yet, it was all a dream I made. When men dream these old dreams of today, they always come up with one conclusive statement… “What if?”
What if I was I was a magician; I had snapped my fingers and make all her worries disappear in a twinkle of an eye. What if I was a preacher, then my sermon would be about how the heavens were opened up on our wedding day and I had offered her that diamond ring in a beautiful castle she will proudly call her own.
If I could be all these things, I had given Diana everything at best, fly her straight to heaven, and step dance with her at my inn…I’ll ask her to marry me and give my all just to get her that diamond ring and while everything in my dream looked so real and so lucid, it felt disconcerting to come to realization when she tapped me on the shoulder and said in muttering bleats, “James finally proposed to marry me, aren’t you happy for me?”