They never let you touch them. They always hover just out of reach, and if they sense you've gotten too close, they swiftly flutter away with no hesitation, giving you not even the shadow of a chance. They're so beautiful, the way the light reflects off of their wings, how the dust shimmers like powdered diamonds across the silky cloth. You want to hold one, to examine its intricate design, the delicate art of Mother Nature; you want to observe this magnificent creature up close for yourself, yet you can't seem to get a hold on that fragile jewel. It's faster than you are, and startles so easily every time you move in to capture it. So you prowl, sneak up on the unsuspecting darling, gently curl your fingers around it - - and oh! how it struggles against the sudden darkness. It fights desperately in its prison until its energy diminishes completely, and it collapses in your sweaty palm, defeated. Gradually you peel open your makeshift cage and peer inside at your new prize, only to be disappointed by its lack of flitting and glimmer. It doesn't twitch with gorgeous energy anymore. It's limp, lifeless litter in your hands, and you toss the pretty tragedy so carelessly to the side as you move on to your next venture without so much as a blink.