Dream of a Royal Love

Not the love they teach in books.
Not the love that pleads to be chosen.
This is the dream that crowned itself.
A heart forged not in romance, but in remembrance.

It leans bold and off-center—refusing symmetry, refusing shame.
Its geometry says: I will not hide my hunger.
Its crown says: I remember who I am.

Painted with laughter and defiance, layered in carnival ghosts and dreamcodes,
this is the myth of a love that never begged—
only burned.
Not seeking permission.
Only reflection.

Because sometimes the most royal thing you can do...
is love like you’ve already been crowned.