dear butterfly

1~Posey

If heaven had a smell, i'm pretty sure it'd smell like book pages.
There's something about this paper-y old smell that is addicting.
Two days ago i started reading Jane Austen's Persuasion, and ever since i've been the last person to exit the library before closure.
Sitting in my usual corner i get a decent vision of people skimming through books, and hoping to stay as unnoticed as usual i go back to imagining their life.
That blonde girl over there looks like an Abbie, Abbie with an ie and not with a y, tired of always spelling her name, but happy with life, maybe with a loving boyfriend even.
There's a young woman with a clip in her hair and a baby boy in her arms that looks like a Claire, Claire that has had her baby in her 18s and that was left alone to grow him, letting her boy pick up a book for her from the bookshelf, while he's laughing at something i can't see.
And then, there's him.
The only person i was never able to define in this damn library.
Today, he's reading 1984
There's been some crazy eye-contact ever since i first stepped into this place, it's like a mutual agreement, just to watch, not to talk, and not knowing if i'm completely making this up and seeing things i shouldn't be seeing is driving me nuts.
I can't be the only one, come on.

I suddenly feel dizzy. The salad i forced myself to eat at lunch is threatening to come back
i frown, and he looks concerned for a split second
focus on something Posey, anything
you can't throw up in a library
Except i can't take it anymore, and run to the bathroom before puking right there.
Coming back from my quick trip i immediately find a note tucked up in the first page

dear butterfly
i decided i'm calling you that since i don't know your name, and you're always fidgeting with your butterfly ring.
I can't take this eye contact anymore
i don't mean to creep you out, you're free to ignore me, once again, i'm no creep, i just wanted to give it a shot and writing is the only way i know that allows me to do that.
If you ever feel like answering, leave it in the catcher in the Rye on the right shelf.
I'll be waiting, but not forever.
H.

what the actual fuck?
that's my onest, very first thought.
Nobody ever cared about my existence, let alone a complete stranger.
The messy cursive handwriting matches his personality to a T.
I look around to see if anyone could be spying on my reaction, but nobody seems to be very interested, he's nowhere to be seen, and i put the letter in my socket, as i get a text from mom:
Hi baby, I'm stuck at work tonight, i have to cover for Jessica on a late night shift.
If you can, go pick your sister up at Kenzie's as soon as possible.
I left you both kraft Mac & cheese for dinner.

Great. Just great.
I don't even have time to come up with an answer to the stranger H, Esme is at her friend's house and i can't just leave her there forever.
Huffing, i get out and hop in the car, and a few minutes later i'm dragging my sister out of Kenzie's house, thanking her mom for having Esme over.
She doesn't speak for a good five minutes, too busy holding her grudge to me from her carseat
-baby it's not like i could leave you in there, you understand? Kenzie has a family, as you do- she glances at me as if i'm stating the obvious, rolling her eyes
-except i don't have a family, if i did, you wouldn't have been here picking me up.
That's a mom job, not a sister's-
Esme never fails to amaze me.
She's six, but from the way she talks she sounds older, and i know that's partly my fault too, i'm the one who's raising her, always driving her around and making her dinner, and if she's thinking what she's thinking it's because I'm not doing something right.

🦋🦋🦋

By the time we get home, she must have said a thousand "i'm hungry!"
wish i could go back to those times.
As i sit her down in front of the lion king, i start heating up the maccaroni.
I open up the cheese package and a wave of nausea immediately runs through me.
-Esme! dinner's ready!- i shake the feeling off of me, while grabbing a granola bar and taking a bite.
Esme comes a little later, and she eyes me weird
-why's there only one plate? are you not eating again?-
-of course i am, i'll eat later!-
-promise me you will?- her hazel eyes stare into my soul as my heart sinks
lying to her is awful
-don't worry baby, i'll eat when i feel like it-
she shrugs, as if she understands perfectly my issue with food, even though i know it's fairly impossible.