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I used to have fantastic dreams of wonderful and awe inspiring worlds. We would slay frightening demons with staves and swords, but the older we grew the more our imagination dulled. Those amazing instruments we wielded with God-given authority proved to be discarded sticks, the beasts and monsters stray dogs and temperamental roosters who gave chase.
The wards of night lights and safety beneath blankets in bed were dismissed as child's play and lack of maturity, disappeared like a summer warmth upon the creep of autumn's chill.
Recent events beg to tell otherwise, my eyes are more wide open than ever before and my reality feels tender and raw, like a wound that has yet to heal. I don't feel I'm ready to discuss what brought me to such a conclusion, but I see it... no, I see her everywhere I go. She follows me closely like my shade but corrects me like a knowing teacher. At first I believed her to be a demon, some dastardly creature seeking to consume me — but she's something more. Perhaps she's an angel, but what angel hides in shadows and is shrouded in cold, wispy black?
She brings mystery and puzzle, each a riddle that plagues me day and night and I know I won't find peace unless I find resolution first.
She says we are one, and we are the same. If that holds truth, then I suppose a more fitting question is what am I?