Remembering the Butterfly

The reason for my existence that I’ve forgotten for so long, buried among the debris of my life, blurred by the distraction and sparkle of glimmering lights, frozen by cold logic. It’s here still, a tranquil spring slowly resurrecting.

I wonder if it’ll be forgotten again. If the faint rhythm of gossamer wings beating will disappear again with the receding waves of memory. For what is abstract has no place in hard cold reality. Sadly, ghosts are not welcomed here.

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