Flower in Your Hand

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Why butterflies, you ask?

Well, butterflies are supposed to be transient;
Live for only a few moments –
You blink, and it's gone,
Too soon to even be remembered.
Does that remind you of someone, gege?
Of a boy who was supposed to crash,
To starve
To be beaten to death,
To drown in a rain without a red umbrella?
He was supposed to be transient;
Live only for a few moments,
Unseen, unheard, then
Gone without a trace.

Butterflies are said to bring momentary happiness;
Flickers of hope that's not meant to last –
You hold on too tight and
It dies.
Does that remind you of someone, gege?
Of a god who was supposed to fall
To cry
To beg
To parch in a rain without a roof over his head?
He was supposed to be doomed;
Live only for a few moments,
Gloriously at first, then
Gone without a trace.

Why butterflies, you ask me, gege?
Don't you see the irony?
The boy lived,
The god returned –
The butterfly had existed long before the beholder laid their eyes on it,
And it will continue to live on.
Does that remind you of something, gege?
Of a love whose name hasn't been invented yet,
A love that
The harshest winters couldn't kill,
The deepest trenches couldn't bury.
Trees wither and die,
Humans wrinkle and die,
Mountains crumble and die,
Rivers dry and die,
And yet the butterfly lives on,
Because fresh flowers are still there on the shrine,
Maybe unseen,
Unheard,
But never transient,
Never without hope.

So when you ask me why butterflies, gege,
I smile and remind you
It's because
There will always be a flower in your hand.

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