good morning, dear dragon

i feel grief, all spread throughout my body; laying gently, softly, firmly, on my bones. there's an ache—a sorrow, a lost hope—that i think i have not seen face-to-face, at least not yet. there's an ache—a sorrow, a void—settled within and throughout me; it is settled in the same resting place as it was when it first alighted upon me, i think last year.

it confuses me—i thought i had this figured out. but given the way it so effortlessly permeates my being, the way it so relentless suffocates and crushes the soft animal of my body—how it darkens the radiance of the breath of my soul—i am left to reckon with the fact that i have not reckoned this sorrow, whatever it may be.

it is an old sorrow—a well-worn blanket—that covers me. something about it is comforting, for it is familiar to me. yet it still haunts me, because i do not know who gave it to me—my father? my mother? God himself? ...me?—and so i do not know its origin.

it is an old sorrow—an old creature, a sad dragon, maybe—that i had once lulled to sleep with offerings of "kudos” and "subscribe”, “reblog" and “like”. but now, at the beckoning of familiar melodies and even more familiar words, it has awoken once again.

it has awoken once again,

and i am left to deal with that.