Every morning, I stand on top of the mountain I live in.
Every morning, I see a creature flying towards me, with the dawning sun in it’s back.
Sometimes, it’s a beautiful Phoenix, heralding the fine day and enveloping me with the warmth of the sun.
But sometimes, it’s a dark Dragon instead, filling me with doubt and tears.
Sometimes, it looks like the Phoenix from afar, and I’m opening my arms wide in greeting, but then it turns out to be the Dragon, and I’m desperate and disappointed.
Sometimes, it looks like the Dragon from afar, and I’m getting sad, but it turns out to be the Phoenix, but I’m still doubtful and won’t believe it’s warming words.
That means, only about every fourth day is a good day for me, when the Phoenix rises in the distance and embraces me in joy.
Sometimes, I think the Phoenix is disappointed too, disappointed of me, and desperate.
Sometimes, I think when the Phoenix is disappointed, it sheds bitter tears that drown it’s flames and turn it into the dark Dragon.
Maybe there wouldn’t be a Dragon if it wasn’t for me disappointing the Phoenix.
Everytime one of us is hurt, so is the other.
Maybe we wouldn’t be hurt if I wasn’t there.