Butterfly Wings

I was always inspired by butterflies wings, the delicacy and beauty in such a simple creature, and now, watching them flutter past me on this sweet summer day they inspire me more than in any other day of my life. They make the most of the numbered days they can fly. I must do the same. I’ve watched my family mourn me, my parents sobbing helplessly in the late hours of the night, my mother throwing and breaking all the dishes and cursing that drunken driver who took my life that wet cold night, I’ve watched them cry and fight and come back together at the end of it all, because the end of my life doesn’t mean the end of theirs, they need to find a way to be okay again, even if I can’t tell them that.

 I watched my sister helplessly take it all in, the shock beneath her eyes despite her lack of understanding, she somehow knew, just knew I wasn’t there anymore. This meadow is like a dream; it comes with the dazed emptiness I feel in my attempts to hold on. The grass is green, the daisies a bright magnificent yellow, it is how I always imagined, but I know it won’t last, I must move on to let my family do the same, yet I struggle. There are the selfish parts of me, who want everyone to keep crying for me in the years to come, there are the desperate parts of me who want this all the have been a dream, to be able to get up the next morning and laugh it off with my friends, but somewhere deep down I know this can never happen, I know it wasn’t a dream, it felt like a nightmare, but it happened, it was as real as the fresh gravestone in the cemetery with my name on it. And lastly there is the helpless part of me, who just wants to give up, float away with the wind, pretend I never experienced life, like a stillborn baby, I sometimes wish I never got the chance, than maybe it wouldn’t hurt so much.

My friends have gone back to living, my sister is playing with her friends down the road again, my Dad has returned to the office and everything has gone back to normal, except the silent tears they all shed when thought to be alone. My bedroom door remains closed, nothing has been touched since I was in there last, and I doubt anything will be for a long time, my parents subconscious wish to have me back. But I can’t go back, and I must accept it. So I stand, my bare feet digging into the soil beneath the grass, brush my hands on my dress, and I walk, I walk forwards, in acceptance of my fate, I walk towards the unknown, and I hope, just hope, that everything will be ok, and with that thought, I don’t look back.