When it started, I felt butterflies flapping frantically in my chest
Whenever you spoke, whatever you said
And those sweet words that rolled off of your tongue,
Your voice light and loving and lilting with charm and candy-coated promises
And so on it went, weeks and words,
months and words,
Always the same words.
The butterflies grew tired of all the same words.
The air they flew in has grown stale
They’re off to find fresher skies now
And they’ll stop in to say hello, but only on days
When clouds, memories, bittersweet longing rolls through the sky.
But they don’t stay anymore. This isn’t their home, anymore.
They want a place where they can land on your fingertips, leaving their feathers on your palm,
Watching your face light up like the sun that always seems to be overcast, nowadays.
It’s not a lie to imagine if you never believed it could happen.
And so the air stays still,
And the clouds linger,
And all we have now is
Words.