A gentle breeze teases my hair as I stare across the green meadow. I find myself feeling lonely, and longing for the impossible company of another. While I am typically resolute in my solitude, the recent correspondences with a dear friend has shattered my determination to remain a hermit. Surely the day will come when such desires will dissolve, but today they create a yearning that echoes deep in my soul. Never have I been the type to change, not since that day long ago. However, the gentle urges of another have brought emotions I have yet to understand to the surface. His letters have opened my heart to the possibility of happiness, however remote.
I force such thoughts out of my mind and think instead upon the beautiful day before me. The trees are flourishing, the birds are singing, and the grass is as green as shining emeralds. Alone I may be, but I want not for beauty. Every day I see a world that is mine alone. This meadow has been my solace for six long years, and it will be so for many years to come. With new determination towards my desolate future I pull myself from the ground towards the cottage I have cared for as if it were an old friend. Inside is a simple life that lacks the complications of the world. It has been my sanctuary since my self-imposed exile.
I sit at my sturdy kitchen table just as a butterfly comes fluttering down. It dances across the table sporadically landing from time to time. I wonder what it must be looking for. Perhaps it too desires a companion to live its short life with. I decide that cannot possibly be the case for such a simplistic creature. Instead I decide it is looking for food. Remembering that they prefer the sweet nectar of flowers I dig a jar of honey I had been saving out of the cabinet. I put a small dab on my finger and hold it out to the butterfly. It dodges away from my pursuing finger not realizing I offer him food. With renewed vigor I pursue the butterfly again, managing to sneak my finger gently in front of him. He immediately flies away again. I almost believe I have failed and am soon to give up when he alights upon my finger as if it were his personal goal to be there. I look closely as his long tubal mouth darts across the drop of honey. His wings are tightly closed as he eats with gusto at the treat I've provided.
It occurs to me that something so small is at the mercy of my whim. I could easily crush that tiny body and those paper thin wings. It would take as much effort as a blink of an eye. I cannot think of a reason why I should or should not do such a thing. It is a matter that remains undecided for what seems a very long time. He is nearly finished before I come back to the reality that I have yet decided what the fate of the small creature should be. Shall I take his life with the mighty power bestowed upon me, or shall I let him live his already short life as careless as I wish to be.
By this point he has started to relax his filament wings. They slowly open, and bestow upon me the reason he should be spared. I am bewildered by the beautiful light blue that is framed with a single black line in such a way that it seems iridescent. The slow flutter seems to accentuate the frailty of his beauty. Such a thing should be preserved on a more hardy material, not left to the short whimsical life of a butterfly. I am hypnotized by the startling delicacy of the creature nested upon the tip of my finger. How should such a creature be so trusting of a honey trap? Should they not be more cautious of losing the beauty bestowed to them by the most gentle of creators? I am nearly infuriated that such an alluring creature would trust his life to the whims of fate. Perhaps I should take it upon myself to protect such a fair creature. Its beauty would not be wasted upon me. That is exactly what I should do.
Just as I make up my mind to place the graceful creature in a sanctuary of its own it flutters away through with the treat I had served. I panic and put another drop of honey upon my finger, but it is too late. He has already met the end of his short life in the webs of fate before I could save him. That is when it occurs to me, perhaps I did not have his best intentions in mind. I thought only of my own loneliness, and how he could possibly serve to alleviate the disease of my soul. Just like the spider that has served to rid this world of a beautiful creature, I too have considered taking such artistry from the world in which it belongs. Though perhaps that was its fate all along.
I look at the gilded trap on my finger and lament at the golden drop that would have been the end of my solitude. I realize my folly in believing a butterfly that is subject to fate could relieve me of my desolation. The darkness I have surrounded myself in is not easily defeated by such a whimsical thing. It is then that I recall the friend in which I have found inspires the longing for what I swore to give up long ago. Perhaps it is not too late to change my mind and rid myself of the oppressing loneliness that I have subjugated myself too. I gaze at the stationary sitting untouched at my desk considering replying to the pleadings he has made for several months. Should I finally submit to his requests of breaking my silence?
I am elated as I scrawl out a message to him. It is short, but firm in telling him my intentions to finally break my vow of solitude. With an overwhelming feeling of joy I quickly jam it into an envelope before running at a breakneck speed to have it delivered. When I arrive to the box at the bottom of the hill I place the letter in the box. A letter flutters to the ground before me, as light as can be. I notice the familiar writing on it and snatch it from the ground. I rip it open to see the familiar writing inside, but I find it is not a familiar message.
My dear Dalia,
I have tried for many years to save you from the loneliness you have subjected yourself to, and subsequently myself. I can no longer bare this burden. For too long you have ignored my pleas and rejected my offer to be together as we were meant to be. I have found someone else now, and she has brought to me the realization that you do not care for me as I do for you. I wish you the best in your solitude. This is the last letter you will receive from these weary hands. Goodbye, my dear Dalia.
All at once my world is shattered. A wailing comes from the depths of my soul and echoes through the empty woods upon my beautiful hill. How could I be such a fool to ignore the love of my life for so long? The letters both drop from my hands as I trudge back to the solitary prison I have created myself. In place of the beautiful meadow I once treasured is an empty field of weeds growing over a broken shed that is my cell. I collapse on the bed of the dilapidated cottage and bury my head in the thread barren pillow. I can feel the last vestiges of my heart shattering to pieces, and much like the butterfly I feel I am a victim of a fate I allowed.
A/N: Please give me feedback. If you like it simply vote and maybe even leave a comment. If not, please comment on what you think should be changed.
