Butterflies

Butterflies on his skin.

You looked at that boy.

The boy with marked wrists.

The boy with the scratches on his arms.

No.

Not scratches.
Scars.

You looked at that boy.

You looked at him and you thought,

'Why does he do that to himself?'

You asked yourself these questions.

Not him.
Why?

You looked at that boy.

The boy who cried.

The boy who, now,

Instead of scars on his wrists,

Has butterflies.

You question him.

You ask if he's alright.

He nods.

You take out a marker and take his wrist.

You draw a butterfly,

Then look at him.

You draw another, on your own skin.

You smile, exchange a few words

Then go your separate ways.

That boy.
That boy you smiled at.
That boy you drew the butterfly for.
You saved his life.
There are no more scars marking his skin.
Only butterflies.