I've Felt Butterflies

I've felt butterflies.

I've been among the loved, the wanted, the desired -- I have loved, wanted, and desired. Once upon a time, I was a gorgeous willow dripping with sweet sorrow and lonely heartache. I swallowed my pride and touched another aching one, and while for that moment my sorrow was gone and my lonesomeness was forgotten, I had no idea who I was.

It gave me butterflies.

I have seen sadness in the kindest of people -- kindness in the saddest. I've heard of doctors fallen ill, soldiers taken prisoner, children tried as adults. But oh, I have seen victims become heroes -- all victims and all heroes. I have had absolute faith in absolutely nothing, and while for that moment I was nothing and no one and invisible, I had every reason to be a hero.

Then I felt butterflies.

I've listened to miserable secrets and told gloomy lies. I have held the crestfallen, the glum, the woeful -- yet none as dreary as myself. I've moved to a home deserted of people, a place of bleak and grim emptiness. I describe a sea, birds, and warm arms; I only ever notice a dead lake, moths, and the bare branches of long-gone trees. But this place is a home for me.

I've felt butterflies.