by Furry Monster

Created on: May 25, 2007

PICKPOCKET PRINCESS

I should have recognised it the day I met the pickpocket princess, that my life would change forever- yet I was ignorant so I did not see the signs.

It started out as merely harmless, innocent thrifting where under the disguise of her carefree, happy nature she would casually stroll out with small things. Her bags slightly heavier upon each visit. So on our first trip to Barasti's, she lifted a stylish salt and pepper pot and a scarf, which the gentle natured waiter left, to protect her from the freezing cold winds. It was obviously not meant to be walked away with. Then ever so gracefully, she pinched a napkin from Ginseng because she needed one; it was easier than buying one- and this is how this love story begins. It was that simple. This was the moment where the pickpocket princess with her dark, curly locks, large round eyes and an infectious, smiley mouth was born. I am convinced nobody will miss these small things, not at all. But i am wondering why this frightens me? Perhaps, it is the ease at which I can be influenced or the simple, persistent urges to become corrupted by such small, insignificant mischievousness. All it takes is a twinkle in your eyes, a grin spreading across your face, a slight thudding in your chest, quick nervous glances around the room and the incredibly twitching fingers- dying to take things do not belong to you. Yes, temptation, gently warming your insides making you feel slightly high. High on mischievousness.

How do I know all this? I have fallen victim to this addiction. Oh, no, no, no. I hope you do n't assume I am a theif. I am not and neither is my pickpocket princess- we are simply seeking small thrills at the expense off those better off than us. I am sure they can afford to lose a pepperpot, a napkin, chopsticks, an ash tray, a scarf .................. we re not thieves, honestly. We re simply obsessed with the sensation it leaves behind. It is not stealing. It is a form of art, it is love, which we are all too scared to admit too. Yes, love- the obsessive, breathtaking, uncomprehendable kind of love. A love that makes no sense, a love that consumes us, a love that makes us feel alive.

This love requires some rather special attention and skill. It needs nourishment, constant practice and an all time alertness. It is an addiction that makes me feel alive, it allows me to breathe freely, it frees me from my burdens and anxieties, which I long to forget. I am grateful to have met the pickpocket princess, she has relieved me from the emptiness that was long embedded in my soul. She has empowered my inner being to seek freedom, harmless thrills and small moments of joy, which otherwise I would have looked down upon. I no longer, hope to be alive- I am alive. I am living this life; all over again.

I beg you, pickpocket princess; please do not forget me. I will never forget you- you are my hero. You will always be with me, ever so close but unreachable. I will think about you, each time I embark on my journey of mischievousness. A lifetime filled with taking things that are off no real value or significance, only so I can feel your closeness and that crazy, consuming sense of love.

The pickpocket princess. The love. The mischeivousness. The real life.

Freedom.

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