The chaser

I’ve chased love like butterflies since I was a child.

The closer I’d get, the quicker they would fly away.

I would creep up slowly, trying to get a glimpse of the colors and detail on their wings.

As soon as my eyes would meet the fore wing, I would blink, and then nothing.

I  searched around the yard, hoping that the butterflies were hiding in a coy way…

After hours passed, I had let my eyes and head hang low.

I would relinquish my desire to get closer to the butterflies, how can I chase something that’s always trying to get away?

I’d lay awake with the thoughts that something I wanted so badly had slipped away…

The following day, I would see more butterflies. And even more in the weeks that followed.

Over time, my cravings for their beauty had diminished. I learned if you touched their wings, they would begin to lose scales.

I learned that they could not feel pain. I watched as their wings would become chipped and they would struggle in the same spot for weeks until their eventual demise.

Something I once craved so badly to have and to hold, I am learning cripples at the touch of my hands.

In the way I chased butterflies, I learned a lot about love.

The way it starts, and stops, and halts. How it starts out within my reach, appearing to be beautiful and inviting.

And the next moment….gone. Fleeting glimpses of it in and out of my head and reality.

How I keep hanging my eyes and head so low when someone gets so close only to flee or transform into someone they’re not.

The chaser and the fugitive is a familiar tale to me, and I am always the chaser.