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When you see him, they said,
You will know.
You will know by his eyes.
I understand what they mean
When I first see his green-grey eyes
So startlingly different from my brown ones.
My heart tells me he is the one.

I bend down to caress him,
His knobby chin, his squashy nose.
He turns his gaze at me, and I can resist no more.
I turn to kiss him —
First on his lips.
But that seems too intimate
For someone I have met just a second before.

So I settle for the cheeks
Green, rotund, scaly.
I kiss him once, and twice,
And a tender thrice.
He blinks rapidly,
and lets out a hoarse croak.

I clutch him to me,
But he leaps away to his lair.
Someone drags me home,
I don’t remember who.
“He was not your prince,” they say gently,
And then harshly, and then kindly again.

“He was not my prince,”
I repeat after them,
Willing my heart to believe it.
For a moment it is lulled, numbed, dulled
Perhaps I even accept it for the instant.
But then pipes up an insistent voice —
“He was your prince, he was your prince!
It was just that…
You were not his princess.”


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About The Author

Richa Bhattarai is the Communications Officer at WWF Nepal, Hariyo Ban Program. She is passionate about communications as her career and writing as her vocation. Her anthology of short stories, Fifteen and Thr3e Quarters, was published in 2011.

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