Late in January of last year, a butterfly came and sat on your windowsill.
She was resplendent, intricate and exquisite.
Her words were delicate and sweet like honey;
they floated off her tongue and held the contingency of fortune.

She told you that spring was coming sooner than expected, and you did not believe her
for the melancholic grey clouds held no promises;
but you hoped she was right, because
spring was the season of efflorescence and flourish, and winter was anything but.

Surely enough, delicate sunshine brushed your face in February,
or maybe it was March, but time was trivial seeing as
and your heart was as light as her wings,
and the marigolds had begun to bloom.

When summer settled in, you tried to keep the butterfly in your hand
in hopes of eternal sunshine,
but everyone knows that butterflies cannot be kept for long
and that fall is inevitable.

The marigolds began to reek and wither
as the leaves began to change colour.
Your butterfly wanted to be set free
but you tried to keep her.

So she flew away.
As much as it broke her, she could not be held back.
With her she took the last traces of sunshine,
and what was left of your heart.

You spent the rest of winter looking for something to bring you incandescence
and she searched for someone who’s spirit resembled yours;
but serendipity was not written in the stars
and you were both left heavyhearted.

It is now the 22nd of January;
you have not yet found a butterfly,
but a caterpillar who holds the promise of flourishing into one,
and she has found someone who’s heart is made of gold to share her stories with.

Your love for each other was not meant to be-
but it was beautiful while it lasted
just like the marigolds
that grew last spring.