I knelt down the meadow, opening up my palms, inviting a butterfly onto my hands. I saw it from afar. From daisies to daisies it had lept, still thirsty for more. Ficlke, quick, yet a delicate flutter of yellow and mild brown.
The butterfly paused, contemplating perhaps, and gently rested on my outstretched palms. Trusting me.
Overjoyed, I had lept, the little girl I was, only for the butterfly to leave me, never to be seen again, but, still I do see him in my dreams.
YOU ARE READING
Chasing Butterflies
Short StoryDreams.... art, dance and fleeting memories and music. That I can no longer make sense of. Maybe they never did. Maybe they don't have to. Yet, I've tried. Tried to peice them all together...to sew these.. endlessly t o...
