DEAR BUTTERFLIES [ COMPLETED ]

1

MYLES' POV:

Have you ever thought about "If only I had" about something? A situation be it about confessing your feelings to someone, talking about things , fixing a problem or doing your homework. We all have done it, at least once. You'd be lying if you say you haven't . 

Every moment you spend is briskly different. Some warm and calming, some cold and some numb but that's the thing, we don't live forever but the memories are like vinyls that are the humming the song of life. You never realise the worth of those moments you spent until you have passed them all. Something that came out of those moments. 

We all crave love, the kind of love that reminds you of new parents seeing their baby laugh for the first time or hold their finger with they grabby little hand .The kind of happiness that makes you feel like a 6 year old who just won a medal, Like a teenager whose parents accepted them for themself, like a warm hug, the one that blankets around your body and soul. A feeling which is like the moon , maybe not in sight but always lingers around. 

A feeling I was far too familiar with. A feeling I could only scribble down on paper, a feeling I didn't know how to stop leaking from my existence. 

I was sitting opposite to the railing of the rooftop, surrounded by all the empty memories printed onto paper, photographs and letters, cards and video tapes, taking a trip down memory lane, scattered all over the place, some flying away in the music of the winds. Letting the smoke out of my mouth, I stood up as I put my cigarette down. The skyline in front of me was enchanting, why would it be ? It's New York. 

As I stand here, 15 storeys above the streets of New York, I can't help but think about 'what if this isn't all real ? What if it's just a bubble of fate like a fragment of my imagination ?' 

Not in a suicidal way ofcourse, it's not like I want to get rid of my existence neither was I bothered by it and even if I did, it wouldn't be like this. I'm more focused towards others, do they get sad when they hear about people like me? Do they feel pain or pity ? Do they even care in the first place ? 

I don't think so. 

I stare at the picture that I have on my other hand, a boy with a I V drip on his hand and a shaved head, smiling at the doctors. Someone who was strong. Looking back it's not the same person left, it's all gone. I wanted to be like the people in the books and in a way I guess I was, the ones that get lost in the pages of time, ones that don't have time on their platter. I drop the picture down, letting it away with the winds. 

I make my way back downstairs after throwing away the cigarette. It is always the same cycle. Getting up , going around with work and getting ready, medication and treatments, support groups, doctor's visits, more medications and back to bed. 

In the current state of society, there is an extreme sense of social stigma when mentioning cases of cancer. Many people have adopted a view of pity in a cycle of misunderstanding and misinformation. Yeah maybe that carousel ride would have helped, maybe that chocolate bar and a trip to disneyland I went on as a kid with make-a-wish did too. 

"I'm so sorry I didn't know you had cancer" 
"We are going to miss you so much" "You have cancer does that mean you'll die soon ?" 
"Why do some people get cancer and not others?" 

The cold atmosphere of the car blankets around my body as a I sit in. I looked at everything that was passing by through the window. Crazy how there is a big world out there but so little time to actually look at it. The morning sky was in its after storm blue and small birds chirping their song. It was beautiful, that was until we reached here. The lights of the parking lot I had grown so familiar to. 

Standing at the entrance I look over to the place I hate the most, the hospital, a deathbed for many and a hope of getting the chance to live again for some. I have never been particularly fond of this place, the bland rooms and the plain white walls made it look nothing less than a out of Hollywood, wrongly described asylum.

"Let's go in sweety", my mum said while patting my shoulder gently. We had to be here almost 2 times a week for my leukaemia to progress and for transfusions where needles and tubes didn't even hurt anymore.

Requiring transfusions more frequently is usually considered a milestone. More frequent transfusions usually are not helpful and the patient is likely to live only a few more days, or a very few weeks at most. I walk into the same hallway greeting the same people , the same blue scrubs and the same ward boys, nurses and staff. 

It smells like life and death, the faint but unmistakable scent of blood and pus seeping through a veil of antiseptic. It's a very special smell, yes only for doctors. And at times, well depending on the time you visit the place, it's a mix of cleaning agents, chloroform/alcohol, food and people, very sweaty people. I look around trying to spot something new , which was basically nothing, only the same boards and posters. 
There use to be a time I used to be excited to be here every week, of course the sole reason behind it being candy and candy only. Well it is what it is.

I let out a deep sigh as I looked down at my watch which read 9 am . Here we go again .

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Hi my loves heres the first chapter I'm so excited for the revamped version of DB, I hope you liked it , tag me in your posts/review about Dear Butterflies on instagram (@starfire2389 @reythakker) and Twitter ( @starfire2389 @reyxthakker )

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Word count: 1059 words

Until next time 🤍🦋

Edited and revamped pt1*