She was a butterfly. She flew and soared high, too high she burnt her wings

Butterfly never lives long. But she felt grateful, at least she was once before.

She was not brave. She had to.

She did not want to be strong. She had to.

She expected a hero, but her own shadow left her in the dark.

A faith, was all she got.

“It is hope that make people live” her father said. 
And who are the one you can count on if it is not yourself?

Amongst hard rain and stormy nights, she always believed there would be sunny day. 
If it is not today, it might be tomorrow. 
If it is not tomorrow, it will someday.  

One day, she felt a pain on her back.

They tucked her over and over,
for days and nights she felt the pain of things she could not see.

She decided to take the feeling for granted.
Like it's just another pain, so what.
Like it will go away as she flushed in the morning.
Like it will be forgotten as she would be distracted with other things.
Like other unfinished business in life.
She just let it be.

She thought she was running in circle.
She was wrong. 
That day she knew, the things on her back were the things that would give her another chance
To make a little jump, to somersault in the air, to sing, to have a crash landing in one of those bad days
To live,  basically. 
 

They were fluttering wings.