I think I was in college before I saw The Last Unicorn all the way through. I read the book for the first time last year and just finished re-reading it for a second time. I completely missed Schmendrick and Molly Grue's relationship the first time. I barely noticed it this time until the very end, when I thought, "wait," and had to go back and search for proof that this was there the whole time. It was.
I used to consume love stories with such wanting, watching Nightmare Before Christmas and reading Jane Eyre, The Great Gatsby and all the bildungsroman love stories set before the 1930s. And then -I don't know when- they stopped working. I assumed because I was happy in love and didn't need to want it.
They're working again. Which proves I may be human after all.
Of course I want what I can't have. Or, rather, what I can't find; what I gave up looking for and came to regret that I never found it.
Which might be poetic except that I keep refining what that is.
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