The butterflies have since moved, not migrated, but moved. No trips planned ahead nor any reason to return. Inside, the battle rages on: To love, to forgive, or to forget? Outside, experiences fill voids. Like a Band-Aid on an open wound: Temporary. Love is a powerful tool. Hatred is a powerful tool. Indifference may be the most powerful. That internal skirmish ceases and the external emotional trips drift further and further away from that lonely island. The move has been dramatic, yet necessary now. At the start, it was a city; Full of life and people and things to do. Then the suburbs, less people, less things to do. Next was the island: alone and isolated, but tranquility. The homemade raft sets sail for a new destination. Will it arrive in a bustling city port? Or arrive at a small dock along a river? The snake sheds it skin to begin anew. Forget the genie and make your own bottle, Write your own message, And write your own history.