If You Were a Dragon

If you were a dragon, my dear, what a dragon you would be. You'd fly on real wings, zipping and soaring in ways that clunky old airship can't match. Nothing in the sky could outmaneuver you.

If you were a dragon, you wouldn't have to burn all your wages on firesap fuel and docking fees. We dragons are low maintenance. No meals but a good steak every few days, no home but a nice smooth rock for a bed. You'd courier with ease, pay off your mother's physician's bills, and have plenty of time to paint. You wouldn't have to wear those goggles that ring your eyes in purple after each day of flying. Dragon eyes are windproof. And we never cry.

If you were a dragon, my dear, no naysayer would be able to pierce your scales. We dragons are born armored, and we have the teeth and claws to make bullies sorry. If you were a dragon, you wouldn't be big, but you'd have me, and we'd fight together.

If you were a dragon, you could explore to your heart's content. That stand of mangroves swaying in the sea, the ruined temple shaded by jungle, that mountain lake the color of jade. You could stop by all of them and paint until the light is gone. If you were a dragon, you wouldn't have to look wistfully over your shoulder as the airship keeps chugging on. You wouldn't have to say, "Someday," and put on that resigned smile.

If you were a dragon, my dear, there'd be nothing to keep you from spreading your wings. You could leave this dreary cliffside outpost and see the world. You'd take the cities by storm with your mischievous smile and your good heart. Your paintings would entrance the wealthy and connected, grace the halls of galleries and public monuments. Imagine it. A dragon that paints! The limelight would stick to your heels like your shadow.

Except dragons can't paint. I know, because I've tried. But I'm not an artist like you. It's no wonder the muddy smears left by my brush don't capture how I feel. I'm a poor painter. I'm a dragon, not a human.

If you were a dragon, my dear, I'd tell you all the things no one's telling you. All the things you want to hear. I'd tell you how I see you. You're never more beautiful than when you have paintbrushes in your hair and ink on you nose, than when you're pouring beauty onto a page in the low light of evening. You paint your soul, and it is wondrous to behold.

But if you were a dragon, your mother wouldn't lean on you as she takes her first steps in a year. You wouldn't be able to hold her hand through the headaches that come on so quick like summer storms. You wouldn't make her tea and sit with her through the long nights.

If you were a dragon, you wouldn't have had to learn grit, to shatter your boss's low expectations and fight to get deliveries when he was giving your share to the boys. You wouldn't have had to walk tall despite their sneers and use your wit instead of dropping to their level.

If you were a dragon, you would have had it easy.

But, if you were a dragon, you wouldn't be you. You'd be the fierce, flashy thing I painted you to be, with fame on your mind and fortune in your grasp. You wouldn't have pulled me from that poacher's trap, set my wing, and nursed me back to flying shape. You wouldn't have brought me along on your courier trips, wouldn't have given me the job of watching the temperature gauges and starting the burners with my breath because you don't have money for new flints. If you were a dragon, you'd be gone.

You're a girl, not a dragon. And I'm a dragon, not a human. So I'll hold your brushes and play your muse. I'll flick your nose with my tail and let my feelings go unsaid. How can it be any other way?

You're not a dragon, my dear. And that is why I love you.