"She will remember your heart when men
are fairy tales in books written by rabbits.
Of all unicorns, she is the only one who knows what
regret is - and love."
So says Schmendrick in The Last Unicorn.
Years later, Jeanette Winterson would write "Why is the measure of love loss?" in Written on the Body, and we read it, and we feel it - and we know.
Ultimately, it's not the tragedy of losing your love but rather the connection between love and regret that I find so heartbreaking in Schmendrick's words.
Will we grow together?
Will it be a lie?
If it lasts forever
hope I'm the first to die..."
...And regret. Regret is a terrible word. A wish that the past could have been different - a perpetual feeling that you could have changed things, could have made them better, could have improved, been a better person... you name it: I don't want to anymore.
...And when we regret love - is it the loss of the love that we regret or the act of loving itself? Never again will I fall in love so fast. Never again will I say those words. Never again will I be so dumb.
...And you get tired.
...And you get weary.
...And you want to curse the futility of it all.
But we mere mortals have it easy. Unicorns are eternal.