Once upon a time there was a butterfly. She had bright, colorful, big wings. Wings which enhanced and entwined all the colors of the rainbow. Wings which shone like the subtle glittering of still water under a full moon. Wings which were wide like arms ever open for a warm embrace. Embracing the wind. Embracing the light. Embracing the music. Embracing the happiness. Embracing life. She had long curly antennae which finished her whole look by giving a royal touch.
She used to be one of those butterflies, who could never be alone. She had everyone around her and was around everyone. Loved. Appreciated. Enjoyed. By one and all. She was carefree. To do what she wanted. To fly where she wanted. To hover at whichever flower she wanted.
She would carry sweetness from one beautiful flower to another. She would relay the joy from one lovely butterfly to another. There would be a sweet, resonant fragrance, like that of a pot-pourri; a soothing, soft view, like that of a dew drop on a cherry blossom, sliding down; around her presence. Flying, sipping, dancing, she was very much happy and content in her life.

But, as they say, when you have everything which is just perfect, there is something missing and something wrong.

She started flying to places alone. Her intentions were not corrupt. She wanted to see new color, find new flowers. She wanted to fly far away. Those who wanted to tell her that it’s not a good idea, she started hating their interference. Those who wanted to help her and accompany her, she started hating their pity. Heeding no one, she flew away. She flew away higher. She flew away further.
She flew through darkness. She flew through silence. She flew through still air. She lost the luster of her colors to a worn out, faded, odd mixture of hues. She lost the form of her wings to a drooping broken twig. She lost the grace of her flight to uneven sprouts of random upward and downward drafts. She lost the thing for which a butterfly is supposed to be known for, being beautiful.
She started flying around aimlessly. She forgot what she was looking out or searching for. She visited weird flowers. She flew amongst other things. She was conscious of her being lost and lonely, but she was not ready to accept it. She remembered every single moment with every single other butterfly she had spent time with, but pushed them away from her thoughts. Every now and then, she would fly by someone from the memory lane, but just fly past.

I know she’s flying blind. I know she’s flying solo. Without any sense or direction. Without any idea of heading where. Even I don’t know where she’s heading. But all I hope is that this once beautiful butterfly doesn’t turn into a moth and get succumbed by the fiery flames.

Fly back home…