The Butterfly

The butterfly perched by the side of his bed, its wings fluttering ever so lightly in the morning breeze. They were a beautiful shade of black, glistening like velvet, as if painted by the dark of the night. There were little patterns of white adorning the black, piercing but with a cool glow, like moonlight. He thought he could make out shapes in the white, and it seemed to stir some part of his still drowsy mind. There flowed an undertow of emotions, but there were no memories. He felt both happy and sad at the same time.

He dreamt the same dream again that night. Standing atop ochre steps, he was gazing at the meadow in front of him. Behind him lay a building aged well over half a century, weathered by the scores of people who walked through it, most of them never to return. What lay behind him was completely out of sync with what lay ahead, in distance and in time. If there were people there, they had all turned to stone, unmoving statues, yet gazing at him through their stony eyes. But none of it mattered to him, he had eyes only for what lay ahead.

She stood there in front of him, her eyes meeting his. Dressed in a black and white shirt and light grey jeans, she was a gorgeous sight to behold, his heart missing several beats. The wind blew a few strands of her silky brown hair over her face, caressing her cheeks, almost like blowing her a silent kiss. He felt jealous of the wind, how lucky it was to do what he longed for so much. He stood there transfixed, overwhelmed by her beauty, in a moment that seemed to stretch on infinitely. And he hoped for it too, wishing, though in vain, for time to stand still, for the universe to end, paused in that moment.

An unrestrained joy welled in his mind, and he knew why. Her cute lips were parted and she was smiling at him, her eyes sparkling as they smiled too. His racing heart gave in as the unbearable pressure caging it broke, giving way to a torrent of happiness. A wave of pure bliss washed over him and he smiled the most heartfelt smile of his life. He held nothing back, all his love for her was laid bare, reflected on his face. Maybe she felt it too. Or that’s what her eyes told him. Those eyes, those enchanting pools of the prettiest shade of hazel in the world. And the way they sparkled when they were locked with his, he could lose himself in them, admiring their unfathomable depths. As she stood, silently, smiling in front of him, he knew that he was changed, his life would never be the same again.

He jolted awake, his dream shattered like a delicate crystal glass and he felt hopelessly lost. The pang of loss cut him so deep, as if it tore his very heart out of his chest. He felt claustrophobic, the world around him caving in, just like his world within. How did it get to this? How could he let her go? Would he see her again, or her beautiful eyes, which spoke to him in a language known only to his heart?

He sat on his bed, head buried in his hands, his mind searing with regret. That’s when he noticed the butterfly as it fluttered over his face. For just a moment, he forgot everything and his mind blanked out. All he wanted, for a few insane seconds, was to catch the butterfly, hold it in his hands, and call it his own. He reached out and grabbed at it, fingers brushing against its velvety wings as it slid through them, away. Defeated. Lost! The memories came flooding back. Tears began streaming down his face and he closed his eyes wishing for it all to end. There was no point to his life anymore, no more reason to live. He wanted to fall asleep, burying all his pain, into a deep slumber, and never wake up from it. He contemplated it too, but then, amidst the warm tear drops, he felt the slightest of touches. He slowly opened his eyes only to see the butterfly resting gently on his cheek. He knew not why, but it brought a weak smile to his face, and the faintest glimmer of hope in his heart