That knot in the bottom of your stomach explodes as the butterflies burst from it and flutter their way up your throat, gagging you. Every time you open your mouth you're shocked to see that you don't spew hundreds of the colorful, suffocating things. It's lucky because the vary person for whom the butterflies are brought forth for is standing in the splash zone. Their presence edging the butterflies further up your esophagus; yet your special friend appears clueless to the party in your pit, brought on by them. Their intoxicating sent assaults your nostrils and fills your lungs with the heavenly nectar only gods could conjure. Their chocolaty, make you weak-in-the-knees, brown eyes gaze into your own. Their lips, flushed and full, are in a smirking grin from which sweet songs and snarky remarks pour. Their hair, dark and thick, worthy of your fingers twining themselves through it, falls in their eyes, a shame really, covering them up like that. You know suddenly it's going to happen. Before you can try and stop it the butterflies erupt from your once sealed lips. They spatter the t-shirt of the one they came for and tangle in locks of their dark hair. The butterflies reveal everything, with tales of feelings, grins, false hopes, sleepless nights, and love songs on repeat. They tell your tale you never dared to speak. This tale is just lying out in the open like a fresh wound, waiting to be healed. Lying there, just waiting for the reaction. Then, he smiles.
