Butterflies

I grew up with flowers so butterflies were a part of my daily routine. As a little girl, I played…

Damilola

July 12, 2010

I grew up with flowers so butterflies were a part of my daily routine. As a little girl, I played outside for hours watching and running after these pretty creatures. Sometimes I got lucky and caught one. I had a special used jam jar to keep them in. That was until Wale told me to cage them was to kill them. They never seemed to live very long anyways.

I gave the butterflies names but I hardly ever saw the same butterfly twice. But the feeling I got, I remember vividly: freedom, the imagined joys of flight, the urge to stay in that moment and never leave.

In many ways, butterflies are reminiscent of our so called deepest feelings.

In the beginning… The instant smile he brings to your face,the rush that comes with his touch, the way you feel when you hear his voice, the way your heart swells when he holds you,the way you go mad with worry when you don’t hear from him in an hour, the ‘butterflies’ in your stomach when he looks at you. You tell yourself if he leaves, you will be disabled forever.

Like the butterflies, the early times…

But you find out soon enough that the butterflies won’t always be there.

You who used to hang onto her every word wonders why she talks so much. The smile that broke your heart suddenly needs flossing. You who used to wait up for her call wonders why she can’t stop bugging you. The hands that brought shivers down your spine now seem ordinary.

The butterflies are gone, the rush is over; does that mean love died too?

I don’t see as many butterflies as I used to. Maybe because we have left the early times behind. We are here, now, and I still look across the room searching for you with my eyes. Every time they find you, I know butterflies had nothing to do with it.

Here’s looking at you babe…

2 thoughts on "Butterflies"

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.required

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

Related Posts

Missing home will make a mushy writer out of anyone…forgive me… 🙂 I start by telling you how happy i…

4

I have been to Jos once. I have many friends who call it home. This one is for Jos, a…

1

Like everything else about her, Kiitan’s hair was difficult. All her life, only one hair dresser had not complained. Aunty Toyin,…

1

The first time Mojola ran, Adun went after him with everything she had. Money, time, strength, hope… The third time…

0

%d bloggers like this: