The Dragon


I have always guarded her. So many years, so many forms, she is special and the universe has deemed her so important that they sent me, they always send me, to protect her.

She has never been famous, she has never been rich, but what she does is more important than what any rich man has ever done.

She knows, deep in her soul, the unlikelihood of a human’s birth. That the chances for any one person to be born is less than one in four-hundred trillion. That stars collided and burned out for them, that their atoms travelled through galaxies and settled here, to wait billions of years through other forms, on hold while couple after couple have baby after baby, until that moment life sparks out of stardust and an ordinary human—that the universe deems important, wonderful, beautiful and necessary—is born.

Somehow, not every human knows this. But she does. And she tells the ones she finds who need to hear it. And so many that hurt, so many that feel like an accident realize their worth, realize they are here with purpose. And the universe nods to this, and sustains it by sending me.

Once I was an angel, unseen by her. Once I was a knight in shining armor, and she kissed me twice. This time, I am a dragon on her door, and when trouble comes near, I shake off my wooden scales for real ones, and attack. Next time, in her next life, I am told I will watch over her childhood as a loyal dog.

I look forward to that, to always being real again. To bark and to bite at trouble, and she will scratch my ears and kiss my nose. It will be nice.



Dragon door photo found here:


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