It’s been raining a lot lately, yet you’ve soaked in sunshine, unbothered by the falling drops. It’s almost like you’re running on a honeyed road, laughing when you fall down, whooping when the sweetness catches up. I don’t mean it as a shade, though. If anything, you embody the paragon of a Candy Land resident, with a picture-perfect smile and Barbie-like, pink, pretty hair.
Even though I don’t really know you, everyone knows you love sweet prose, and you write them yourself by the windowpane. You shower your Ken with a jug of maple syrup, and since he’s a man of sugarcane, he makes you the queen of the forest. The inauguration was nothing ordinary. It was sweet like nectar, with a trail of pollen spreading along the main path.
As if orchestrated, all the woodland creatures sing a sweet chorus. As you’re crowned with a flower chaplet, the forbidden fairies vow to a happily ever after. It’s like seeing Bambi officiating the wedding of Cinderella and Prince Charming. Beautiful. Fairy-tale-like. Your hair waves as the guests sigh.
It’s obvious who the main characters are in your story, but your love for storytelling lets the onlookers glimpse what happens next in Candy Land. He holds both your hands and glazes them with promises afterward. And even if I don’t really know him, I hope he keeps them warm for the sake of an eternal happy ending.
I believe it’s easy to get intrigued about what comes next. In the comfort of my own home, I clap my hands as the woodland creatures dance to the song of the forest. And even if I don’t really know you, I’m rooting for all the sugar and spice in your future teacups and his.
I hope your brew is always sweet in the morning, and your wings soar high like a butterfly every evening.
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