Imagine these are butterfly's wings. Fragile and delicate, soft and oh so gentle.
Imagine that I am your butterfly, and your job for so long has been to hold me, protect me with the palms of your hands, not letting me go.
Just think what would happen if you suddenly slipped.
Either you'd let me go, and I'd fly away.
Or you'd fall on me with all of your weight, crushing me. Destroying my wings and all the patterns in them.
Imagine my poor, minute heart, breaking in half. Then into uneven little pieces, smaller than the smallest grains of sand.
You'd probably walk away, unscathed. Maybe a few cuts and bruises here and there, but otherwise still in one piece.
You would probably take one look at the remains of me, at my crushed wings, and not bother saving me.
You'd give up trying, realising that nothing can be done to put me back together again.
Wouldn't that make you feel like a murderer? A killer?
Wouldn't you double over from guilt and from grief?
Thats all I can think would happen. All I can imagine.
I wish that I didn't have to be this butterfly, with these two now broken wings. I wish you didn't have to be the one to walk away.
I trusted you to protect me, and protect my heart, and just like that, the trust and everything around me is broken.
Now I'm just swimming around in this thick pool of nothing, searching for light, for a way out.
But the walls are closing in, choking whats left of my lungs.
Sucking up all the remains of my soul.
And soon, so soon, I'll be nothing at all.
And you'll still be there in the distance, walking away from the mess you left behind.
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