I found the butterfly, dead on the ground, where you had seen it yesterday. When it had the courage to soar through your fingers. Where it had fluttered its paper wings (I was too afraid of its beauty). Today, it lay stiff and fragile on the hard ground, scattered amongst dead leaves and patches of crumbling tar.
Mar 4, 2025
Mar 4, 2025 at 2:10 AM UTC
I found the butterfly, dead on the ground, where you had seen it yesterday. When it had the courage to soar through your fingers. Where it had fluttered its paper wings (I was too afraid of its beauty). Today, it lay stiff and fragile on the hard ground, scattered amongst dead leaves and patches of crumbling tar.