I miss the butterflies and the trouble they would cause,
they would fly too far from me and I could never catch them all,
They would stay with the ones they flew for and wait for me to find them,
I'd keep my sights on their flights and my thoughts on their companions.

I miss the words that I would write when a fire stirred within,
be it ignited from pain or love; the beauty created was the same,
Raw, honest and true, I would pour my heart out into song,
I'd hide inside my singing until the feelings sung were lived or gone.

I miss the fleeting moments of looks and mere touches,
No words were spoken yet volumes were written on our faces.
The world fell with insignificance and the focus fell on us,
the passion lingered beneath the surface but our warm hands were enough.

I'm sure the butterflies will re-learn to dance and play,
I know I'll write the words again for my lost friends love and pain,
but the moments, touches and passion are gone forever more,
After everything I've been through, I miss you most of all.