Sunday Evening

I am pulling The Princess in her carriage. I am the horse. She sits in her buggy. The wind rubs my face, making my eyes water. The Princess sits cozy, safe, of course, next to Minnie and Tink. We pass brown children playing, black children shooting hoops. She sees no color, only smiles at their joy. We travel hill and mountain. She speaks every now and then, never uttering too much. She is content.

We return back to the castle and The Princess must warm her cold body in a hot bubble bath, accompanied by all her favorite friends. Hair dripping, body wet, she beckons my assistance. Dressed in the choicest of cloths, she joins her court for dinner.

We lay in bed and look at the stars. Their light invades our roof, creeping through the ceiling. Even though this happens every night, she is still in awe. We whisper love, gentle kisses, and small songs.

She is safe, warm and snug. I may attend to her beck and call, but she is mine.