The Battles Between

I have been here before, in a house quiet but for the broken notes of Monk playing against the random rhythm of ice on glass. There is a wind outside, loud and labored. I know it like my own breath. It is staggered and heavy and for the tenderest of moments it whispers.

This is when the cries come, in the still of the night. Whitesnake knew it. You know it. It is when we want it less that we are needed more.

These words have been here before. They will be here again. My flock sleeps and I grow lazy in my watch, yet it is on me that the cries fall. It is I who must heed them.

I held my frightened son. It was a moment and it was a blur. These words have been here before. I held him and sang in his ear to the beat of broken notes. My voice was whisky-laced and tender whisper.

That is what it is all about, isn’t it? Dancing in the dark. I am the boss and I am under their spell. It is not a simple matter of give and take. The taking is the giving. I am the first defense of cries in the night and I am the last. There are no monsters or nightmares here, only shadows from moonlight.

Sometimes love is a battlefield and the only weapon wanted is a sweet embrace and breaths that are deep. I am armed and that is all that is needed.

These words, they will be here again.

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