Wild & Delicate

Have you ever crushed a butterfly, knowing that here you have something so beautiful, precious, delicate, and weak and here you can crush it in one swift motion? Knowing you could end its life without a second glance, and make it a part of you forever if you really wanted it? And didn't you just love that feeling?

And if you were feeling vindictive that day, you could cage it in your hands. Knowing that it was probably scared, and your fingers could crush its multi-coloured wings in an instant. Just hold it there all day, then take it home and pin it down just like a speciman. To take that small silver pin and run it through its fragile body and then soon it'll cease to move at all. Then hang it up as a trophy. Doesn't it feel great? Doesn't the arcane rush of pleasure make you shiver?

If you wanted to see it die a slow and cold death, you could hold it in your palm. It's bright wings stiff against your cold fingers, colorful dust particles rubbing on your skin, and you'll lightly tightnen its cage; and release it. Then the butterfly caught in the moment of freedom will fly away, only soon to realize its precious wings are damaged, and it'll struggle. Unable to fly, you'll have a small coy smile on your face. It'll fall into the snow and will not move again; tiny snowflakes from the sky will fall and build a icy little prison and freeze it. This will mark its grave, and here it'll lie till winter dies away and it'll be found again in spring; only to rot away and become one with the ground. And as you walk away, the snow will crunch beneath your footsteps like a thousand butterflys wings breaking; just like the way your heart was.