I woke up
alone
feelings of
cold
and
isolation
surrounded me in a haze
My eyes were open
yet the world was still dark.
It was so dark.
Dark enough to make me forget that
light had ever existed.
How had I gotten to this place?
I had no answer.
Maybe there was no answer.
Perhaps I was always
fated
to land in this location.
Alas,
my eyes land on a flickering in the distance.
A diminutive glow
contrasted by the vast night.
The curiosity of it
commands my legs to go towards it,
while something else,
something nameless,
warns me to stop.
But human nature can not be overridden.
Now,
in perspective,
I see a scene playing out
familiar to the
back-most parts of my brain.
A memory.
Myself as a little girl.
I watch myself draw.
What am I drawing?
I am drawing a butterfly,
every color of the rainbow
can be seen in it’s wings.
They resemble the smile on her face.
Wonder and innocence and ambition.
Life in it’s purest form.
And watching her, my heart warms.
She has everything to live for.
Her eyes filled with brightness
give me hope.
And with no warning at all,
the little girl is gone.
In her place is a girl,
still me,
slightly older now.
Perhaps around 11 years old.
I am still drawing the butterfly.
And it’s still vibrant with color.
And I still have hope.
Even when the shadows
tap on my shoulders,
telling me,
“No. It’s wrong.”
I still have hope.
Only questioning myself
for a fleeting moment.
And while I should be proud,
watching myself turn away
from those monsters,
I feel only a feeling of
blackness
enter the pit of my stomach.
Because I know how this story ends.
And like I foreshadow in my head,
the scene morphs again.
And this time,
the eyes,
the brown ones,
that used to reflect light off of their innocence,
are dead.
And the butterfly is now only two colors.
One is black,
outlining it’s hollow carcass.
The other is red.
The shade of red that didn’t come out of a paint bottle.
And before I can allow
any emotion to enter me,
the scene is gone again,
and replaced.
But this time there is no girl,
only a stone with her name and
a few dates carved into it.
The butterfly is still there though.
It lays in a box 6 feet under.
Nov 5, 2013
Nov 5, 2013 at 10:59 PM UTC
I woke up
alone
feelings of
cold
and
isolation
surrounded me in a haze
My eyes were open
yet the world was still dark.
It was so dark.
Dark enough to make me forget that
light had ever existed.
How had I gotten to this place?
I had no answer.
Maybe there was no answer.
Perhaps I was always
fated
to land in this location.
Alas,
my eyes land on a flickering in the distance.
A diminutive glow
contrasted by the vast night.
The curiosity of it
commands my legs to go towards it,
while something else,
something nameless,
warns me to stop.
But human nature can not be overridden.
Now,
in perspective,
I see a scene playing out
familiar to the
back-most parts of my brain.
A memory.
Myself as a little girl.
I watch myself draw.
What am I drawing?
I am drawing a butterfly,
every color of the rainbow
can be seen in it’s wings.
They resemble the smile on her face.
Wonder and innocence and ambition.
Life in it’s purest form.
And watching her, my heart warms.
She has everything to live for.
Her eyes filled with brightness
give me hope.
And with no warning at all,
the little girl is gone.
In her place is a girl,
still me,
slightly older now.
Perhaps around 11 years old.
I am still drawing the butterfly.
And it’s still vibrant with color.
And I still have hope.
Even when the shadows
tap on my shoulders,
telling me,
“No. It’s wrong.”
I still have hope.
Only questioning myself
for a fleeting moment.
And while I should be proud,
watching myself turn away
from those monsters,
I feel only a feeling of
blackness
enter the pit of my stomach.
Because I know how this story ends.
And like I foreshadow in my head,
the scene morphs again.
And this time,
the eyes,
the brown ones,
that used to reflect light off of their innocence,
are dead.
And the butterfly is now only two colors.
One is black,
outlining it’s hollow carcass.
The other is red.
The shade of red that didn’t come out of a paint bottle.
And before I can allow
any emotion to enter me,
the scene is gone again,
and replaced.
But this time there is no girl,
only a stone with her name and
a few dates carved into it.
The butterfly is still there though.
It lays in a box 6 feet under.
