The Riddle of the Gift

by Not Unlike the Waves

A short story about a riddle I invision being written in an ancient tomb or something of the like. I might expand upon this later. Enjoy!

I am something fragile.

My components, separated, are delicate and breakable, but as a whole I am powerful. Potent, yes, and of great import, like the water that makes all to thrive. For I, too, am the key to your continued existence. Should I fail, you also are lost.

And yet, it is within your power, through the choices you make every moment of your life, to determine my sustained success, or failure. Pay you heed these warnings, it could well play a part in the much-convoluted tapestry of your fate.

I am at the center of all things. I am incarnate and allegorical, literal and metaphoric. I am the personification of something beautiful, yet to many an eye, I am ugly. I symbolize the greatest gift of the gods. Love. Both a fleeting, lustful passion and the intense, steadfast devotion which cannot be surpassed but by the divine Creator himself. Mortal perception of me varies from soul to soul. To the spirited, I may float lighter than a downy feather or a snowflake, but to those who dwell in sorrow I can be a heavy burden indeed.

I am the treacherous in which you must trust. I am Thought. I am Poetry. I am Catharsis. Do you know me?

I am the shepherd of your lifeblood.

I am your frail human heart.