My Rosenkavalier

The following is a diary entry where Blanche explains why she didn’t want to let the newspaper boy go; whom he reminded her of; and why she kissed him.


Dear Diary,

Time and again the notorious claws of realism tear down the cocoon I weave out of my own softness, reminding me that I never was hard or self-sufficient enough.

Since I was a little girl I dreamed of magic. A magic that would complete my cocoon and allow for the transformation of something greater…someone greater. A transformation that would replace my softness with colors brighter and stronger than that of realism itself.

For a long time, I believed Allan was my magic. For once my cocoon was complete, and the very nature of love was allowing me to become something more than a soft moth that was easily ensnared by the light of day. I was becoming a butterfly that was soft, yet radiant. I was illuminating a light, a brightness, a strength of my own that was rooted in the very foundations of a majesty most refer to as love.49361940bbe3aa7dcbd52eda366a8b4a

Then there was realism–so quickly!

My love rendered powerless, for my heart was wholly his, but his only partly mine.

And so I realized that my cocoon was never complete to begin with. It was fifty percent illusion. Half  weaved by Allan’s magic, the rest my fail attempt to complete the illusion that Allan loved no one but me.

Now there is a section of my cocoon in the shape of a heart that only Allan’s could fit before he…before I…made him leave.

The young boy today…

I thought he was the one. His eyes, like Allan’s. His composure, his elegance and soft masculinity…my magic had returned.

And then I kissed him. I kissed him and I felt something nearly common where Allan’s was ethereal. Desire. It was desire. At one point I drowned myself in it, and now I can hardly tell the difference between this desire and magic. This realism and magic. I knew that if I indulged myself with this boy our desires would only serve to cushion realism as it bled truth into our hearts. Truth in the notion that our desire isn’t love. Truth in the notion that our desire, was never and could never be love. And so, it would never be magic. It would never fit the shape left by Allan in my cocoon.

There will never be love.

There will never be magic.

Now it is about survival.

And the only savior that comes to mind is my Rosenkavalier.


Yours always,





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2 thoughts on “My Rosenkavalier

  1. Dear Sania,

    What you have written is a stunning piece. I wrote a journal on this very topic as well, and thought my understanding upon Blanche was certain, but you have undoubtedly caused me to change my perception. I thought this indulgence that you mentioned of Blanche’s towards this young boy was a desire to ruin the chances for him to acquire an innocent love through her taking away his purity. Yet I cannot help but agree with what you have just written, how Blanche is almost desperately searching for the magic she acquired within Allan. Magic…it’s quite simply such a beautiful way to put it.

    I absolutely admired your use of the cocoon within this piece to portray Blanche’s need to be a butterfly, and how this magical love she sought would only complete her graceful transformation. And she believed it did, she believed she was that graceful butterfly until Allan betrayed her, and she realized that the fluttery wings were nothing but an illusion. It’s almost as if she was a butterfly about to seek freedom from the cocoon, but so harshly did she get pulled back into it. Her bright colored wings as you mentioned were leached out of their color and transformed into an ugly shade of brown almost. This is why Blanche seeks comfort in the darkness and desires these young men. I have now come to terms with what I was struggling to comprehend.

    You’ve mentioned how Allan left an imprint in Blanche’s cocoon, and how she knows only Allan can fulfill it but desperately seeks to find another. This accurately represents Blanche as the intellectual woman she is and her cascade into delusion as she no longer “tell the difference between this desire and magic.” That line in itself holds the expertise to present multiple aspects of Blanche, and I am in awe of this capability. It is truly brilliant.

    I love how even near the end of this piece you mention how Blanche is still within the confinements of this cocoon. She has this need for something greater-the truth she momentarily had within Allan’s love, but the shift you unravel is how Blanche cannot become this butterfly, for a dent in a cocoon can never go back to its original self. Blanche solely seeks to get out.

    Thank you for allowing me a truer and greater insight towards Blanche. I feel, through reading this piece, I am able to understand her in a light I never would have thought to shine.

    Thank you,


  2. Dearest Sania,

    Your writing never fails to astound me. This piece is just brilliant, beautiful in all that it is!

    I’d like to start by complimenting the way in which you utilized the idea of a cocoon throughout your monologue – I love the way in which it implies either a moth or a butterfly as both start off in a cocoon. You then took it and revealed that she is a moth, who was waiting to complete its cocoon and turn into a butterfly. This, in reality, is simply not possible; thus, it illuminated the way in which Blanche creates an illusion for herself and continues to think wishfully.

    I also loved the way in which you utilized certain words and phrases from the play and wove them with a gracefulness into this piece – my favorite has to be “then there was realism – so quickly!” That line was just so – for lack of a better word (sorry for being redundant with my diction) – brilliant!

    Your voice carries such a gentleness in it, yet you know just how to use your words to jolt the mind of a reader. So I thank you for that and I thank you for once again giving me and everyone else the privilege of peering into your beautiful mind.

    Love always,

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