Ah, Love May Be Strong, But A

I Suppose I Could Understand It If Men Had Simply Forgotten Unicorns, But Not To See Them At All, To Look At Them And See Something Else — What Do They Look To One Another, Then? What Do Trees Look Like To Them, Or Houses, Or Real Horses, Or Their Own Children?

The Moon Was Gone, But To The Magician's Eyes The Unicorn Was The Moon, Cold And White And Very Old, Lighting His Way To Safety, Or To Madness.

But What I Thought, And What I Still Think, And Always Will, Is That She Saw Me. Nobody Else Has Ever Seen Me — Me, Jenny Gluckstein — Like That. Not My Parents, Not Julian, Not Even Meena. Love Is One Thing — Recognition Is Something Else.

I Have Been Mortal, And Some Part Of Me Is Mortal Yet. I Am Full Of Tears And Hunger And The Fear Of Death, Although I Cannot Weep, And I Want Nothing, And I Cannot Die. I Am Not Like The Others Now, For No Unicorn Was Ever Born Who Could Regret, But I Do. I Regret.

I Am What I Am. I Would Tell You What You Want To Know If I Could, For You Have Been Kind To Me. But I Am A Cat, And No Cat Anywhere Ever Gave Anyone A Straight Answer.