Butterfly Project Dropout

Washing away the dead butterflies is something I never get better at doing. I wash away the blues and greens and yellows and all of that red. That scarlet relief is instantly satisfying as it circles the drain and fades into the pipes. I scratch at the healing scars and I have to wonder, what would he have said? But suddenly I don’t care, because for one split moment even through the disappointment and the hurt and the slight guilt…there cuts another razor – a razor of peace and quiet. All of a sudden, everything is quiet and calm. My mind has rested, my body has become still. All the world is alive again, except for the butterflies I just washed away.