“We met too early!”
It’s what I like to think.
Too early for you,
too late for me.
I guess, you were the last spark
of the trail
that a butterfly left for me,
back then,
when I was just a kid.

I chased it,
and just after I had learned poetry
I reached the place
where you stand.
I had forgotten.
I was no longer a kid.

But it’s ok now,
At some point, we all break.
If what I ever felt was love
I think, this is the last of it.

Now we’re in March.
And this is not even poetry.


3 thoughts on “Butterfly

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