The Crow & The Butterfly

You built me up, just to break me down. What is even more is that I knew it was coming. I chose to push it away and pull you closer – pushing myself further and further away. Until I almost lost myself. Now that I have myself back, I can’t let go of what I did. What you did. What they have all done and will do. I will burn in my own arms. Because of the past, I cannot let anything more break me down; to do so would be to lose myself for good, never to return to the real world. The world where the crow catches the butterfly, hearts are broken time and time again, and happiness is just a prelude to the ethereal pain of what is to be. There is no escaping what I have done, but I cannot taste it anymore. It was so close to me that I buried it alive, under layers of lies. I couldn’t face a broken heart and empty arms; choosing instead a story of black and white monotones that lead to nowhere but the never-ending trek across the insides of us all. The tragedy that makes my farewell a final greeting, embrace the pain I/you/me/we caused that one blind summer that I gave everything up to be with you only to get false glances, and then, when it was too late. It all came crashing down around me. When finally the dust cleared from the rubble of fallen expectations you were nowhere to be found.