"I love you. With all my heart. To the end of the ocean and back."
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FEATURED BY @StoriesUndiscovered
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Missy is a promising student of art, drawing wherever she goes. She is just as talented as quiet and she seems too indifferent to care...
Once there was a flower. In the middle of the wide wide ocean. This flower had no name. It did not have a kind. She was every kind of flower. It made her unique and plain at the same time. Sailors passed her, faith sending them her way. They tug on her petals. Crumpled her leaves. And hurt her in every way they could.
And so, one day... the flower decided to hide. Her scent, her voice could no longer be heard in the wind. Her petals withered and lost their colour. Her leaves grew limp. And the flower looked as if she were dead. Bleeding through the ground. Seen as part of dirt in the middle of the wide wide ocean.
A couple of moons passed and faith sent a butterfly to the middle of the wide wide ocean. It had flown far away from the shore. And even if the butterfly was scared, she grew to love the flower in the middle of the wide wide ocean. Despite the flower's dry petals and silent existence. The butterfly loved the broken flower. She kept flying away from the shore, even if her wings hurt and the waves threatened to tear her down. And the flower fell in love with the butterfly. Charmed by the butterfly's sacrifice. The flower saw everything she was in this butterfly. Her wings were just as bright as her petals. Her sighs were the same as hers. And one day... the flower realised; she was no longer dead. She was bright. Beautiful and wonderful. The flower realised; she could see the butterfly fly to her every day. She realised she could hear what the butterfly wasn't saying. The butterfly told other butterflies about her friend. The butterflies did not believe there was such a thing as a flower which had no kind and no name. They dared her to bring proof then. The butterfly flew in the middle of the wide wide ocean. And stole a petal of the flower. The flower was heartbroken. She bled for hours and hours... until her petals faded once more. And she utterly withered. And no matter how many times the butterfly came back... no matter how much the flower loved the butterfly... she could not bring her beauty back. The butterfly felt so very sorry. Tired from flying to the flower every hour of every day. Five moons and one Sun has passed until the butterfly was too exhausted. And she fell into the ocean. And drowned. And the wide wide ocean felt sorry for the butterfly. And so it turned the butterfly into a wave. And even in the middle of the ocean of blind waves... the butterfly kept its mind and...
I lost my voice.
When I was a girl, I fell in love. I fell in love with a girl who did not love me back. And I kept coming back to her. To love her. Just a bit. Selfishly. And even though I knew she didn't love me back... I was okay. Because I loved her just like the butterfly loved the flower. I loved her even though she was broken. I loved her even though she didn't love me back. She was the beginning of my art. Beginning of my very existence.
I painted this painting, thinking I was her butterfly. And I was her flower. But I understand it now... I realised then, she and I were indeed a flower and a butterfly. But as much as I thought the beautiful flower was her, I was wrong. I was the flower.
The lights turned off. The painting illuminated with the outlining of the flower by a white pencil, glowing in the dark. Thousands of butterflies covered the rest of the canvas, close to each other and as big as the flower... trapping the flower.
In the middle of the wide wide ocean without anyone to understand, I saw a butterfly and fell in love with it. The butterfly never got close enough and I could only love from the distance even if we were close. Even if we were skin-to-skin. Even when we were one soul, she broke us. And then suddenly the butterfly surrounded me whole. She became my whole world. Everything I saw. Felt. Ever. And I was in love. I was always in love with her. But I never knew the more of my world she became, the more withered I was. The more I loved her, the less I loved myself. The more I let her betray me, the more I betrayed myself. And when she broke my heart... she stopped being so special anymore.
I dug my nails into the canvas. The dark hid what I truly felt.
She stopped being the person I looked up to. She stopped being the one I trusted. She stopped being the one whose thoughts I heard and whose dreams I dreamt.
My nails pierced the canvas.
She was only an unimportant wave in a wide wide ocean. But even if she crashed against the shore, she never came back to search for me. And even though the flower in the story kept loving the butterfly... I don't.
I hate her, for making me fall in love with her. She disgusts me. And it is only natural when the beginning of my art no longer exists... neither should my art, I whispered.
And then I tore the canvas.
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