The riddle, he says. When?
There is no riddle, I answer.
Just whispers that eat away at
denial
denial
not the rotten bitter kind
but the type that keeps the
hopeless alive.
How sweet it was,
that blue sky.
I saw it.
Now I am resigned.
Tell me
is this victory?
There is no winning,
the dragon replies.
There is only acceptance.
Remember the riddle.
It is your only choice.
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