It’s been half a year since I last saw my butterfly. She migrates with the seasons of emotion and floats on winds of regret. For awhile I kept her in a jar that sat on my window sill. My worst mistake was the day that I let her out. I miss watching her sun herself in the mid-afternoon when the light would hit her just right and she would glow. She liked coca – cola and rum and sharing a smoke with the caterpillars. She was always beautiful and I liked to watch her through the haze.

I kept a close eye on my butterfly. I would open the lid and watch her fly, she always felt free but in reality she was mine. I would always catch her again before she flew too far. She always felt trapped inside of my jar. One night she begged me to let her be free. She said she’d had enough of captivity. I let her go and closed my eyes. I couldn’t find her that night. When I found her again her wings were gray. I should have never let her fly away.

Her spirit flew on broken wings after that. My butterfly never really came back. She laughed too much and said too little. She spent too much time in a haze, even on the sunny days. She flew through rings of smoke and performed fancy tricks. She would’ve done anything for her fix. I tried to call her back, but my jar was cracked. It was no longer home.

The first time she fell I caught her like I always had. She landed in my hands and I hid her beauty from the world. I was hoping she would learn, but I knew better than to believe. I put her back in my jar but all she did was tap on the glass. I let her out and she disappeared.

I waited patiently for her return but I was never so lucky. She would come and visit then sail away again in a cloud of smoke and broken promises.

The last time she left I fear it was the last time I would ever see her come back. I’ll call her when she’s another year older and her pupils are small and her eyes aren’t so red. Maybe her colors will start to show again and she’ll remember how to fly. She was always so graceful. I’m waiting for the day that she gives all her caterpillars the boot and I can see her clearly without the haze. It’ll take me back to better days.

Maybe she’ll dance with me and curl my hair. I want her to sit down and listen for awhile to the songs that we used to sing along with late at night; late at night when she was telling me about her dreams and I was dreaming that she would make it to them. I still want to let it rain because she doesn’t think she loves me anymore. I still love her.

I let her go, my butterfly, and someday I know she’ll think of me and she won’t hate me for it. Someday she’ll understand why I kept her trapped for so long. I know she’ll never thank me, but at least she won’t resent me after all this time. I wish I still knew my butterfly, whether her wings are orange or blue. They were purple for awhile, thanks to some dye. She asked me to do it and I still don’t know why. Just another part of the mystery that was my butterfly.