It makes me shudder, that picture. I suppose that sounds odd, when I keep it in my office. Perhaps I keep it here because it was taken on a perfect day, a day I’d been allowed to tie my hair back any old how, and spend time with my father.
Yes, he loved his butterflies. Loved them so much that he pursued them and poisoned them and pierced them with pins. It’s strange that I was allowed to play with that one. It must have been a reject, marred somehow. That seems apt. There was something damaged in me long before I ever met my husband.
Perhaps that’s why I really keep the picture, as if one day it might help me to remember how to be that little girl again, seeing only the beauty, instead of the butterfly, pierced by my husband’s love.
Inspired by this week’s Visdare prompt, but told by Chrsitine Ness, of whom, more later. For now, you should really go and see the other responses. Really. What are you waiting for? Go