In this city I live in, not far far away, lives a Queen. A real one. You know, the kind with a crown on top of her perfect hair. The kind that knows how to smile and wave. The kind I would like to sit down with and drink a cup of Royal tea. The kind of Queen I would go to for advice, seeing as I don’t have any previous experience on how to rule a kingdom and haven’t yet mastered the art of creating perfect non frizzy hair.
We would sit down, in chairs more expensive than the rent I pay for my flat. Tea would be served in tiny golden lined tea cups and I would ask her if it is all worth it. If she sometimes doesn’t prefer to drink tea out of a mug with the tea bag staining her otherwise so perfectly clean kitchen counter top.
I would ask her if it is all worth it. You know, if it is worth it when you have hopes and dreams you long to accomplish, but you know you can’t. Whether it is worth it to create a world so others can pursue their passions, leaving yours floating in the Universe. And whether or not she hits the snooze button in the morning. Although I’m guessing no, as it would be highly unlikely that the maid who wakes her in the morning would appreciate that.
My first act as Queen of the World would be to listen to Queens who have gone before me. Who know how to drink fancy tea and not stain on the expensive carpet. I would ask if they would be Queen again in life number two if they were given the choice. I would ask them if I should rule the world or let the people be and to give me the name of their hairdresser.
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