Memories of a butterfly come to me…

What is there to remember?

Do I tell myself a story about how the cycle of metamorphosis was a beautiful one?

Think about the moments that felt hard, yet powerful?

Honor the times where growth was compulsory, and had no stop, but rather felt forced.

Maybe I can take time to reflect on the pain, the isolation that I felt in my cocoon,

The constrainment,

forced to listen to the echoes within the thin layers of my home.

Or maybe… I'll ponder on the waiting period,

Spiraling, wondering when will I flourish?

And how different of an insect will I be, if after all its derived from me.

Do I validate the grief that I felt?

Remember how changing felt like losing a part of myself.

How shedding my cocoon felt more violent than freeing.

Do I appreciate my new set of wings?

Wings that now reveal a new level of height

A perspective I thought would be freeing

And now a perspective that is actually terrifying.

Going from a grounded caterpillar to an unearthed butterfly doesn't feel as romantic when everyone around me has also changed.

And now they too have the ability to fly away.

And they can choose to be as far or close to me

Memories of a butterfly come to me.