Once upon a time there lived a prince, in a land not near not far. The times were evil and the lords were many. But the prince was naive and didn't care for one and all. He was the crowned prince and soon to be the King, why would he have any worry? All day long, he would be brave and strong. People would see him and remark, "lovesong! lovesong!". But inside the Prince knew, he could feel, he had a dream, to find the perfect Queen, to call his own and be called her King. For her he would take a million stings, he would fight back dragons and smite the foes within. When he would return from battle, virtuous and victorious, she would look at him, with eyes that gleamed for no other, but her hero, her man! He would be the crown jewel to her, with hearty laughter and songs, with love around and no worries to mar.
Throughout his kingdom, he went from maiden to maiden. But none could be the perfect one for he. "Woe and sorrow! the perfect match of dreams shall always be a dream to me," lamented the prince after every fruitless sortie. The days grew long and the nights grew longer. The quest became sour and the soldiers went under, but the perfect one could never be seen.
But then the winds turned direction, and fate smiled back. The skies cracked and swore, the seas were at a roar. A bright light split through the castle, the prince came to, awake and startled. He blinked his eyes and rubbed them again, he pinched his sides and saw her again. An angel from heaven above, flew down softly and gently, came to rest beside him, softly and serenely, leaned to his ear and whispered, "Search no more for the perfect me. I am here now, for yours to be."
Jolly days came back again. The kingdom rejoiced and there was nectar again. The price was ecstatic for all to see. He would beam around and prance to thee. Pain was banished and there would be no sorrow. He would live each day like there's no tomorrow. The light in his eyes, the song in his soul, he had finally got all that and more. But happy days would not be forever, the angelic beauty would be reminiscent forever. Yearning for the perfect he, which the Prince was not but seemed to be. In the castle she could see, in fear of darkness, the shame to be. The prince was prince no more, but a pauper in being. There was no strong arms, no spirit to be. A shadow of the illusion, the naked Prince could not be seen. There would be no victorious battle, but hasty retreats. There would be no happily ever after, but soul-fragments to glean.
Such disgrace! Such disgrace! The crowned prince coudn't show his face. The more he tried to be the dream his beauty dreamt, the further away he dragged himself to be, from all he meant. He lost the charisma, the valor. He could speak no more, his sword lay silent. Whenever he would shudder back from the dire satire, he would resolve harder to try again. To be the man he wanted to be, to give his angel a King to be. To be enough to make her see, what lay in his heart, what he wanted to be. But he was always too late, always too slow. The past would always get to his throat. With every fall, he withdrew within. With every fall, he gave up on him. Until one day
nothing was left of him, but failure and sorrow, misery and wallow. The princess could look at him no more, reminded of every failure, she would just sit in a corner and talk to her scars. He yearned to fade away into the darkness, to not torture her beautiful queen with memories of what were and could have been. And so ends the tale, of a Prince who could have been and a Angel Princess who was, of two lovers in love, but two who could never.