This is my memory of us.
I meet you.
The butterfly takes shape within the first clasp of our hands,
Molded unknowingly by our fingers,
Its early wings unwittingly cut out of our first startled glance.
Its body builds itself alive in our awareness of each other.
It wants to fly in fearful recognition
It briefly stutters into existence,
While we awkwardly talk at each other
And we make accidental and fleeting connections,
That we sever almost immediately.
It stills and waits when we look away
And it flares in a brief, passing touch.
Its wings unfurl unbearably in my chest
Struggling to burst out.
I cannot breathe because I can't stop smiling.
My hands are trembling
And so am I.
I feel we don't have together at the same time,
Even if we have each other in the same place.
We birth and destroy imaginary, separate swarms,
Flinging them outward and upward,
Their confused bodies with incomplete wings
Shredding into each other senselessly,
I count them
Amazed and joyous.
I want to live here and now,
But I am afraid.
I am sorry.
We part, each taking one wing, conjured out of words and smoke.
You tear up yours when you run away from me.
Its unfinished body lies trampled,
Where for short moments
We tried to live in the same place
Maybe I was the only one
It haltingly flew between us.
I would like to know.
I can't stop smiling,
Even if I am a little sad.
I am alive.