butterflies

Old thoughts I stumbled upon. Interesting idea.  

I wish that I could stuff all these feelings and butterflies in a jar, twist the lid on tight and then bury them deep in the forest.   Perhaps something good would grow from them.   Or perhaps, they would poison the trees around them leaving them to suffer alone too. These feelings can’t live here anymore.   My mind has moved on.   I want to release them and feel freedom once again.  But there is a string that hasn’t been severed between us.  Maybe it is the one last thread of hope that I couldn’t cut ties with.    I didn’t release all the butterflies that would swarm and swoon when you came in to the room, or touch my hand.   I guess I kept one or two.   I regret that decision now, because of the realization that all I have now are the memories, and those I can’t laugh with, hold, or kiss.  I am alone with only my butterflies.