Butterflies

The little details,

While sentimental and poetic,

Can oftentimes blind us from the bigger picture.

I used to always admire the way you would remember dates, memories, or the way you always knew what to say.

How you never seemed to forget the jokes I would make, mocking me at every chance.

I found love in all of the little things.

But where do those things go in the midst of manipulation?

In the silent 2 AM arguments that never seem to be resolved,

Where are the minuscule details in the presence of shaky hands, misguided minds, and bruised hearts?

You may have never forgotten how to ease your mistakes,

How to appeal to the twisted corners of my mind that may forgive time and time again,

But at least he will never forget that he loves me.

He will never forget the way my laugh inflicts when I am excited,

Never cease to appreciate the strength of my compassion.

At least he will never forget how to not walk away from something that he cares for,

From something that cared for him.

He will never forget how to not tear the souls of those who love him with words that stem from the deepest pit of internal hurt.

At least he will never forget the importance of kindness.

I used to always admire the way I got butterflies in my stomach when you were near,

How I could feel them softly flutter as you would speak.

I think that I found some kind of safety in your control,

In the sense that I mistook the way you could heal the wounds you created in me,

 for peace.

I somehow mistook peace as sleepless nights contemplating how to keep you even a second longer,

Sleepless nights deliberating a love over someone who shatters glass but then cries when it breaks.

However, now the butterflies inside of me have settled in for the night,

Finally sleeping without keeping one eye open,

Without reading between lines or dissecting potential lies.

They finally feel safe and open,

Not cautious or afraid that insensitive words will rip their fragile wings.

As of this moment, the butterflies inside of me have stayed in their cocoon for the time being,

Taking their time to grow,

Not feeling the pressure to change or metamorphosize for anything beyond themselves.

Once their wings stopped batting without end,

In the supposed silence,

I could finally hear my own heart beating.

And for the first time,

I do not feel the chaos and hecticness,

For the first time,

I simply feel human.