Then, if I was somehow able to find the words to relate to my readers the true extent of the many remarkable elements in my life - well, you just wouldn't believe me. "That poor naive girl," you would say. "She's a three year old who just got a plastic ring from the quarter machine, and thinks she's got the queens diamonds. It isn't possible for real life to be the fairy tale she describes."
So instead I stare at my empty entry for awhile, then shake my head and close the window with a secret knowing smile. Because you see, my life is that fairy tale, but you will never know.