It's been a while since they flew away,
My sparkling, nightwinged Butterfly.
But I stare at my window sill in the dead night, and see flapping wings and star-tipped antenna taptapping.
I want to ignore.
I have to.
But they're so beautiful and I miss them so bad...
No.
I'm not opening that window.
Tears of determination drop from my eyes, and before I know it, I'm unlatching the window.
Like a fool.
They fly in, and I notice how badly their wings are hurt.
I also notice they don't want me to help.
It's just us. Them standing there aching, not wanting my healing magic, and I aching for their pain,
for the wall of ice they hide themselves behind,
Like I never knew the fire that smouldered in their chest...or ever caressed them to a place where all they felt was me...
But they're alive, and they're here.
I'm grateful.
They fly away again
Before I delude me into thinking they're back.
The months pass;
The Butterfly and I are more used to each other again.
I know they will never be mine again in the way that I want,
I know they exist in pain for even beginning our story.
But they can't forget me, and they don't hate me, so I can deal with it.
We might be worlds apart and basically strangers now, but at least
I will have my Butterfly.
YOU ARE READING
The Scraps of A Song: An Anthology.
PoetryPoetry spanning topics from love to pain, to addiction, to borderline insanity, to romanticism..in a disorder so strange it becomes an order all its own... The Pieces of Her, The Scraps of A Song.
