SUNRISE OF THE BUTTERFLIES

A DREAM

It was windy here.

The sun was out, warming me as the grass tickled my ankles.

There was chatter in the background, but as I listened, it became clearer and clearer, louder and louder—

Everyone was screaming.

It could be mistaken as a form of music, the way the screams blended into each other, harmonized and melodic.

But no, because it hurt to listen to, it made my insides churn, it made my throat burn, it made my lungs tight, the sounds etching themselves into my brain.

It felt like I was spinning, how even when movement stops, the feeling lingers, such a terrible aftertaste.

Next to a cliff was a flower.

Existent, elegant, and alone. Petals waxy and leaves veiny.

I was there, at that cliff, next to that flower, and the screams were gone.

Fingers grazing the flower, purple spreading to my fingertips in a way one could never comprehend, and my heart felt purple, so pretty and calm.

I want it to be over.

The breeze was quiet as I teetered on the rocky cliffside, ground digging into my bare feet in an impossibly painless way.

It'll be much more quiet this way.

And I fell.

It'll be much more painless this way.

My hair had fallen out of its braids, so wild as my heartbeat slowed.

It was not windy here, but my life swayed anyway.

[s.] a girl dreams of the thoughts she keeps locked away