"Whenever you see a butterfly, it's the memory of a loved one saying hello."
My mother used to say that when I was younger. I think this was her way of bringing comfort after my grandmother's passing a few years ago, but it wasn't comforting for me at all. I mean, it was nice, but I've always thought my mother looked like a butterfly. If butterflies are memories, wouldn't that mean that my mother would be one too? I didn't want to think about losing her or about my dad not having his other half. She was tall with dark, golden skin, hair that swirled like little whirlpools, and a smile like a million pearls. Her voice was like lilac in the afternoon and her aura was filled with joy. I was happy to take after her as much as I did. She was beautiful, even when she got sick. And she stayed beautiful, even after she died.
We released butterflies at her funeral. They all flew away, except for one which sat on my shoulder.
YOU ARE READING
When Butterflies Fly In The Rain
RandomForever is a concept made by man to trick the mind into believing we have more time than we truly do. But how long is forever?
