The Butterfly

I’m no longer myself anymore. I’ve morphed into something so beautiful, yet so fragile. Like a butterfly. I started off as a small egg. Then I was hatched, brought into a world where there were larger things than I. Things that were sure to destroy me. I was pummeled and shown horrors no little caterpillar should. All the while I spent my time absorbing and eating up the words that were viciously thrown at me. I chose to listen. I guess eventually the little caterpillar me had had enough,so I formed walls around me. I was to stay there forever. Safe, and warm, and perfectly content. But then I changed during the isolation. After all, when you’re alone for such a long time you start to thinking, and remembering, and I doubt you’ll ever be the same once you go back to being in reality. Then my walls broke. My protective chamber I had spent so long a time in, had broke. And I came out. I was changed. I was more beautiful than anything I had known before. After I’d gotten used to my new self I went to explore. I found that even though I’d changed I hadn’t grown much. There were still many, many things larger than I. Scary things, evil things, sad things. Things that looked as if despair, and hatred had filled every single part of their soul, that hell had crept into their skin and manifested into something so evil and so frightening, that it had to kill every nice thing it crossed paths with. And I had been put into the line of fire. Evil had filled my thoughts. sorrow and darkness were upon me, and I had no hope of escape. For when you surcomb to the darkness, and let it eat your heart, and kill every bit of happiness and joy in you, there is no escape. You are forever hollow. Who wants to live when they are forever hollow? Eventually the darkness wears me down too much. And the little butterfly me fades away…