Is there a beauty for the beast? Is there a little mermaid devoid of voice, turning to seafoam for not killing her love?
Moving pictures across the screen, faces I seem to know, people I'll never meet. Flashy lights of Hollywood? Is that all there is underneath? True love turning the corner, is it love? Really? Can it be? Love is truth. Love is being vulnerable, yet stronger than ever. Love is being there, always, even when you're not wanted, even when you know it's all unrequited, like beast was for beauty, when he knew she would never love him for what he was. Love is trying on your better self for the sake of that one person. Love is... Well, not this.
I saw his face, slashed, burned, dead. She loved anyway. I saw one cross the world to meet a first love forever kept in her heart. I've seen men and women brave methaphorical storms I have yet to see the likes of, break the deepest-rooted taboos in our society for that moment in the morning when you wake up and he's there. But I'm babbling away. What I mean is... I don't know what I mean, meaning got lost in somewhere I don't remember. What do I mean? Maybe I mean that I should have been stolen, like Ygritte and her Lord Snow. Maybe it's just that I don't feel the princess anymore, without no prince charming. Or maybe I'm meaningless.
They say beauty is skin deep, but who could love a monster? In this day and age, there would be no beauty for the beast, cause fairytales lie dead in a ditch.