You can't appreciate a smile if you've never seen tears.

I received a dragon in the post today.
It is the most amazing and fantastic thing.

Origami.

Fragile.

I picked it up and turned it over in my hands, wondering how it survived the journey.
Did it make friends on the way?
How many paper dragons do you think there are, floating around in envelopes?
I don't suppose it occurs to the postmen, or the carriers and sorters than they're helping a tiny little dragon make its journey.

But that dragon, making its way to me meant everything.

How easy it would be to squash the dragon. Tear it up. Even to just unfold it. Was it made from a square or a rectangle? If I unfolded it, how easy would it be to recreate, without looking it up online of course. Just from memory, by studying the creases.

Complex.

This dragon represents something more than an ancient art of paper folding.

This dragon represents all the hurt in my life, every bad thing, every time I needed to be protected and wasn't. Of course I wanted to tear it up.

But what then?
If you tear up a dragon you just get scales.
If you squash a dragon you just compress it, its still a dragon. Probably an angry dragon now.
If you unfold a dragon, you don't know what you might end up with. A square? A rectangle? Maybe even a circle? And not a neat circle, one that's creased and crumpled, so you'd always remember that it had once been a dragon anyway.

So my Knight, in slaying me a dragon, made me realise that maybe I need the dark, and the hurt. Because you can't have colour without dark. And without hurt, pleasure doesn't have the same amazingness about it.

So the dragon will sit on my shelf, watching over me, reminding me that there is a dragon inside me too, not to be slain but to make me strong, to make me colourful and to make me amazing.