They say nothing lasts forever, and I’m testament to this.
I’ve changed my life from year to year;
changed my men more often than my socks.
Perhaps that’s a slight exaggeration,
but allow me my poetic licence.
Marriage comes, and marriage goes,
and whilst I tell myself that it’s just a piece of paper
and a ring of slavery,
something inside me still has hope,
that one day… one day
someone spectacular will come along and humour me;
sweep me off my feet, thrust a ring on my finger
and ask me if I will
and I will
And he will be my Mr Right.
Until then, I lay myself bare
and I pray that the next man who spots my naked hand,
like a beacon of red glowing in an Amsterdam window,
does NOT think I’m prey;
does not comment on my ‘availability’.
I’m very much unavailable.
There’s a ‘do not disturb’ sign stapled to my forehead
that only a magician can remove.
And despite my years, I still believe in magic.
And one day, I will be adored and adorned;
not by Mr Right, but by Mr Spectacular.