I am sick of fairytale endings, of dashing princes, magic sword-fights and swashbuckling adventure… There never seems to be enough room for the painfully honest and agonizingly true. I mean, look everywhere! You see guys with fair hair, blue eyes, fair hair, gold eyes, dark hair, gray eyes, dark hair, amber eyes. All of them tripping over their toes to rescue me, the young girl who sat in the psyche of so many writers from all the ages, pondering. You look at them, FOR them so often in the pages of those books, but you never wanted to see just me. For years, I played the role of the weak girl who gradually finds her strength, the vulnerable damsel who relies on others for fortitude, the fierce fighter who learns from her world yet hides her fragile heart, yet in none of those roles did you truly want me. You wanted him. You wanted to read about the man who never, not once stayed with me after all that pain. So, yes, I’m tired and I implore you to write about the agonizingly true. Write about me. Just me.