Emily wants to be a Prince when she grows up. Emily knows that wind comes from trees waving their branches when they dance to sunsongs, stirring the air up, and when Emily looks at the beach she knows that seals are just narwhals without horns and narwhals are just unicorns that forgot to get on the Ark when God drowned the world in His tears (so He gave them tails instead of hooves and let them swim in all His misery forever).
Emily parts her hair on the side so she can be a Prince when she grows up. She parts her hair on the side and wears leggings and a little green hat and runs bare-chested through the forest catching fairies
and on clear nights Emily can see her moonshadow and they dance together, four and forty feet tall.
Prince Emily has a cardboard castle. It used to be a house but Emily took some crayons and drew herself crown moulding and flower boxes because she wants to be a Prince when she grows up and she took that box and brought it under the electric fence and past the cow field to the (rapidly disappearing on account of those mysterious trucks that drive by at night) forest and to her very favourite spot
by the stream.
Maybe she’s there right now, looking at the water and wishing it would ever even in the summer grow warm enough to swim. Maybe she’s there right now, with her chest bare and her hair blonde and her eyes huge and blue and her face messy with berry juice because there’s no-one to tell her to wipe her chin and no-one to tell her to grow her hair long like the other girls.
So Prince Emily parts her hair on the side and talks to Peter Pan and Robin Hood and her own shadow and sometimes God.