After several repeated attempts, I finally managed to secure a short date with the princess. I showered twice, shaved, brushed and moisturized, applied cologne, and found magazine advice on appropriate clothing. After several repeated gifts of flowers, she suddenly accepted my offer to see a movie. I waited, perched on the edge of the mattress with the movie in hand, for over an hour of over-prepared nervousness. Her royal guard brought her to my apartment and waited outside for her safe return. I rehearsed everything mentally, ran a checklist of necessities for most of an hour’s nervousness. The knock at my door ruptured my carefully designed pattern of breath so completely I forgot to measure my timing in answering. The knock at my door carefully ruptured me. She was there, quietly watching the door open, and she was perfect. Green eyes looking about, flaring melodiously when they met mine. She was there melodiously and my heart stopped perfect.

Greetings were made smoothly and I ushered her in only slightly less smoothly, by note of tripping slightly as I looked for the movie. Her royal guard awaited her swift return. I showed her to where I kept the movies, and asked her to pick whichever one she liked. Turning aside from where I kept the movies, she found the one I had misplaced and, picking it up with both hands smiled: this one. Despite tripping slightly, I ushered her in on a smooth note. The lights turned down, the screen lit up, and we lost ourselves in the world of the film. We laid ourselves on the bed that faced the screen, heads held up by pillows. On the bed that faced the world of the film, we were lost in the pillows and screen. Soon, my hand crept out and found hers. Soon, the royal guard would creep out and find her. I twisted my body and repositioned my head on her stomach. The movie played out to the peaceful feel of her rising breath.

The movie ended and we watched the credits together, although sitting up and apart. When the screen grew completely blank, I hurriedly turned off the screen. Sitting up and apart, I was suddenly fearful of it. She stood and walked to the door: I have to go. I rushed up to her: Dinner? I can’t: she sounded genuinely disappointed at having to go. Her safe return, the royal guard awaited. I searched the air for desperate words. She looked slightly crossed and annoyed: Okay. The air, slightly crossed, searched me for desperate words.

Dinner went by without a word, and with every moment that went by, I grew more frantic for something to say. As the food slowly left her plate, I began to desperately motion for words to flow; my hands went up to the quizzical study of her emerald gaze. Without a word, dinner went by. The food having slowly left her plate, she dropped her fork with a sad frown, silent. Even the fork did not emit noise as it bounced on the plate; it just slowly danced, to the quizzical study of her emerald gaze. She looked at me. I stood up, the tablecloth still clinging to my pants, and I opened my mouth to shout, but no sound could come out. Still clinging to the tablecloth, I searched the walls, hysterical for something to say.

I hope she I know we both felt remorse. She looked sad too when it we realized it wasn’t true. She did. She did. She did.

A soft warmth holds up the back up my head, rising and falling. Her breath. I crane my neck, and look at her. An annoyed expression? Loving? or just tired…. A couple on screen kissing. Breathe. Just keep breathing. Will you miss me when I wake up?

I prepared food for the princess’ arrival. I prepared and cleaned the apartment so that she wouldn’t be disgusted by the material apparition of my gruesomeness upon her arrival. I tripped slightly.

When I asked her to dinner at the end of our date it was in violation of code 437 of the Dating Handbook which I carried in my back pocket. The consequences of this violation exist in the forms of annoyed gazes and an overall state of displeasure in the air which points out my desperate words. I threw the fork at the plate. No sound.