They say
a butterfly ***** its wings
in a quiet corner of the world.
and halfway across it,
a storm begins.

But no one tells you
how often
you are the butterfly.

The smile you gave
a stranger
on a day they thought of leaving.
The message you didn’t send.
The one you did.
The fight you started.
The hug you almost didn’t give.

How many lives have you altered
without ever knowing?
How many moments have you shaped
by simply existing,
in the right or wrong place,
at the quietest time?

We chase purpose
like it’s some grand, loud thing,
a legacy,
a title,
a monument with our name on it.

But maybe
you already changed the world
when you held the door open
for someone
who swore no one saw them.
When you stayed.
Or when you left.

What a strange kind of power
to ruin or redeem
with things we barely remember doing.

So move gently,
and with meaning.
Not out of fear,
but reverence.
You never know
who’s standing in the storm
your wings created.