The Dark
Butterflies? Those pretty faces that fly around? Or the ones that you feel in each of your bone? But the pretty in them isn't the only common thing. You know what else is common? They both die. Slowly. Of age. Of pain. You met him and he made you feel flawless. Like you're this fallen goddess. Fallen only for him. He said things out of the blue that would get you excited. He looked in your eyes and you felt the tension. You felt his eyes on your soul. But the time passed. The butterflies started to die. You started to see how he no more says those things. How he no more tells you that he loves you before you say it. How he no more looks in your eyes and sees beyond. He just sees two black eyeballs. The ones staring back at him. No less. No more. Just that. You feel that he changed. You feel that he is gone. But what you don't see is how you have changed. How you're gone.
