The Butterfly

Just because you're different doesn't mean you are any less.


1. The butterfly

There once was a butterfly. A beautiful little butterfly. Her wings were painted with color and promises. But somehow, she couldn’t fly. Not properly anyways. There was a kink in her wing it seemed. The others laughed and laughed at her pitifulness. For what was a butterfly that couldn’t fly? Butter?

She looked in the water mirror, wondering just that. She saw the pretty outside that the world had given her, she saw how it all withered away with each laughter and each comment she got from the other butterflies. Until her wings were grey and mat, no longer gold and shimmering. She felt the same on the inside as her outsides. Grey and mat.
Because what was she if she couldn’t fly?
She was looked at and prodded at by many a butterfly to find what was wrong. No butterfly ever found the kink in her wing. Said it was imaginary.
But what was a butterfly if it couldn’t fly?
Would she ever find love or would she be destined to look at the water mirror sighing over what might have been?
One could waste a moment or one could catch one. So, she told herself to do just that; catch a moment.
But how was she supposed to do that when she had a kink in her wing that made her special from all the others? How was she going to find common ground with them, where they wouldn’t laugh at her or ridicule her? For just because they couldn’t see her kink they didn’t believe it. How does one find common ground with non-believers?
Her mat wings no longer worked, aching like old wood in a storm. Maybe that was what she was to the other butterflies, that flew merrily around her, letting all their colors shine in the wind, just an old aching tree everyone sought cover from in the storms.
Butterflies are meant to have color and fly.
But what if something made that impossible, whether psychical or mental, what would happen to such a butterfly?
That is if she didn’t take a good long glance down at the water mirror and saw what the others didn’t see. That whatever was going on in her body didn’t make her less of a butterfly or less of a flier.
It just made her different. And just because the others didn’t understand, that didn’t make her colors any less brighter or any less amazing.
She looked up at the clear blue sky and for once she didn’t feel the weight of the others laughter. For she was different. Maybe with a kink. But her wings were gold, and so was she. 

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