It was pure chemistry when Frankenstein’s Monster was introduced to his potential Bride, by their creator, Dr. Frankenstein. At least it was so, on the monster’s part. That moment when the lonely and forlorn monster, who had wandered the earth, feeling pangs at every moment, for the misfit he was, with no one to understand him, was the most brilliant depiction of hope and connection I had ever seen on the screen.
There she stood, his Bride, with all of her flaws showing in a very bold and gaudy way, in her frightful hair, her torn dress, and all of her scars, yet the Monster gazed at her as if she were nothing short of female perfection, rendered only for him to love and to bond with, in all ways, instantaneously, and completely. His heart was captivated by her, in a way that no outsider would understand, and no one ever needs to. Too bad she did not feel the same way,and recoiled and hissed at him for his efforts, but that is beside the point of my observation.
I long to become a Bride of Frankenstein, in a flash or a word, for some kindred spirit, who sees beauty behind my flaws, and touches me with a quiet fanfare of his heart, meant only for me, bad hair day, or not. I promise I won’t hiss at hiss at him, either.
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