Anti-Social Butterfly

It's to love a wall flower. The most difficult thing any person can do. Is to love a person who is aloof for all the right reasons.

    She hides in the corner at the school dances. Only there because her mother forces her to be. "Be like your sister," the old witch says. "Talk to someone. Love someone. Don't be afraid." If only she would listen to those last two suggestions. Instead she runs from me. Hides from me. She knows of my existence. And yet she still cannot see. That every time I am around her, my mind goes blank. Words are nothing but mere stutters, stammers, mutters, and gibberish of which my tongue is not use to. But I adore this feeling. As I adore her. My precious flower of blue, and black. No true color to be seen in her eyes. A deep cut that someone, if not many people, have contributed to. It saddens me ever so much. That it is because of those people that she cowers from me in that corner of the school auditorium. No one asks her to dance. No speaks, or calls her name. No one even sees her there. Except for me. I long to hold that hand that so often hides under a long sleeve of a jacket. That constantly sways when she writes, and plots her rituals. I would kiss, and stroke it. Giving it all the love, and affection that I could ever give another human being. But alas. She is not mine. She is no ones. For she won't let anyone in. She has made that mistake before, and now neglects the bare thought of ever loving another creature as she lives. Every night as I lie in bed. I stare at my white washed ceiling just dreaming. Dreaming of what could be. How happy we could make each other. But in the end of those dreams it always ends the same way. She is snatch away from me. Pinned into a glass contained and forced to hide in a cocoon from the rest of the world. Her mind is cruel to her. And to me.

    She does not agree with this thing she calls a mind. I can feel it. I feel everything from her. She may hide her face, and walk the farthest away from me. But I still know. I still feel. I may be a loner myself, but that does not mean that I am inapt to feelings such as her own. I am bound to her. This creature that only I see fit for my love. And only she shall have it. Like her. I stand alone in my own corner. No one sees me. No one knows me. And no one desires to know me. But I believe, truly, deep down that she longs for the same things I do. That she desires my heart, mind, soul, and body. Even my spirit would separate form my corpse just to hover about her form for eternity. It is sad really. That we may never be. I pray for it but, dreams rarely ever come true. Fairy tales, and fantasy blind us all at times. But if me and that girl should be together in that fantasy realm. Then I shall not come out from it.

    My dreams are not elaborate ones. They aren't even well detailed. As if my face, along with her own, is blurred, and rejected my the iris of the eye. A fog normally hovers round our dancing bodies. This, I think, represents such fear that she possesses. A dense fog of regret, and pain separates the Romeo from his Juliet. But this prince of the darkest corner does not cross into it. It is not because I fear commitment. I desire it. And it is because of this desire, that I fear rejection from my beautiful black and blue rose. Such colorless aura that only she can bare. White does not blend with her. Only the paleness of her skin does justify to the auburn locks that sway about her cheeks. Her eyes, dense blue. The ocean's core corrupting the iris and pigmenting her soul with such darkness never expressed before in words. Not of words which leak from a humans mouth. But, instead, from a beast who knows of no such love. No kindness does she know. From others? Definitely not. From her family? It comes and goes. From me?
You may never know how much.

    I have tried, mind you. To spark a flame in those watery eyes. So deep that they engulf me every moment I stare into them. At moments of bliss, they sparkle with waves. The sunshine clings, weaves such happiness into her visage that she is almost unfamiliar. Although. These moments, are often short lived. Some, a contributor to her unhappiness probably, rattles the surface of the water. Dimming the sunlight from those orbs, and plummeting her into darkness; despair. I despise these beings. These creations of evil. They gnaw and maim my beautiful rose. Until only the thorns lay thrown to the Earth to never bud again. Only in those short instances, does a glimmer of hope shine through. Then the pests are back to finish their work. She wilts. Cowers. Then dies. I wish hurtful, and evil things upon these people. I wish them dead. I wish them gone from this life. Never to trample my beloved again. She has never hurt anyone. She has never had anyone to hurt. So why torment this beautiful creature with such hatred, and jealousy. Is it simply because it makes them feel better about themselves? Perhaps. This matter disgusts me. To hurt another for the satisfaction of yourself. Childish. They deserve to be ruined. The lot of them! However. God works in mysterious ways. I am no follower. I am no priest. I am just. And that is all. I see everyone as equals until they pursue a cowardly act of threatening another for simply feeling good. I shall spit on their grave, and dance. Cheer to whatever Lord may be watching. And thank Him. Thank Him for what he has done to those people who have caused my beloved so much pain and sorrow. Then. I shall be a follower. A priest. A rebellious do good. Anything that may help my loved one. Anything.

    The Social Butterfly. She is not. This Butterfly carries no friends. No true loves. No past loves. It's all pain. Pain, and sorrow for what she has lost and fears will never be replaced or recovered. But I know. I know different then my butterfly. My poor, sad, flightless Butterfly. She traps herself amongst spiders, and bats. For that is why she cannot see me. The helpful moth who would simply die to be in her presence. But I cannot die. I cannot leave her. I must guard her with every fiber of my being. I must love her. Care for her. Be there for her. For what ever may come. I need her love in return. And even if it does not come, I shall still love her. You may ask: Why is she so special? She has no friends. She never speaks. She is always to herself. Don't you see? You have answered your own question. I do not care for the popular maidens. They are the ones most apt to turn on you. I have seen it happen. Every day of this life. This long, lonely life that I have lived alone for so long. Longer than my Butterfly. My trapped, diseased Butterfly. So much longer. But she does not know. And I shall not tell.

    Now. As I wade through these crowds. These people. All of them having played a role in her demise. I find my Butterfly. Trampled. Beaten. Alone. As she walks so close to the lockers, her sleeves cling to the metal. Wanting to stop her for me. But her body does not react. She does not turn. Does not look away from the ground. She has trained herself not to look at the eyes of the people around her. In fear that she will see their sins and surely lose her mind. An Angel, this Butterfly has turned out to be. Not a fairy which craves for lust from the humans but an Angel. A soul that bares wings so light that they rival the simplest beat of a Raven's.

    I approach from the crowd. My hand reaching. Wanting. Touching her, and holding on. She turns. Those scared eyes, wondering what I could want. I hesitate. Then words form in my mind but they aren't what comes out.

    “I love you.” I say. The World stops around us. Her eyes quivering in confusion of my newly, broken news. My face showered in apology. But no other words can be made. There is nothing that I can do now. Her arm tenses as I hold it still. Not hard. But firm. A gentle feeling. I could never hurt my Butterfly. My Angel. I am not like the others, I whisper. Undoubtedly. She does not hear it.

    “Why?” she mouths. Unable to speak. She doesn't believe what is happening. And neither do I. I stand there. Staring into the abyss of her eyes. That shimmer. That glow. That I work so hard to find every day. Hangs there. Waiting. Watching. To see if it is a joke. I trust in her. It is never a joke. I am lost at what I could tell her. So lost that no answers can be found. The stare deepens. We notice that not only has the World halted. But the people in it have stopped with us. All those eyes that wait to see her cry. That wait to see me break that poor heart in two. But I will not give them that benefit. I care for my Butterfly far too much. So sensitive the wings. That one they are broken. They are hard to replace. I knew of a way to replace them. To mend them. To make her just as beautiful as she had been before all those hurtful people walked into her life.
More like trampled through it.

    “Innocence.” I whisper. Softly. Sweetly. Meaning it. She is the most pure of creatures I have ever seen. Ever known. Never a first kiss. Never had she been bedded. Never had anyone held her held and whispered sweet, love words into her ear. Never had someone made her laugh. And make tears of complete joy stream form her eyes. No one. I would be the first. And she would be mine. For every thing anyone would ever need from the person they love. I did not, and do not ask for much. Just her love. Her acceptance.

    She is quiet. This silence is thicker than any I had ever shared with her. We wait. The crowd waits. Then finding it, or us, incompetent. They separate. Leaving us alone. The bell rings. We are alone. Late. Together we are lost. I float through an ocean of despair, as she waltz across my green fields. Then. For the first time that I have known my Butterfly. My Angel. Her mouth curves. Her lips peel back. She smiles. Then I smile. I am accepted. There in that hallway. We stand for greater minutes. Until rushed by daunting professors. My hand slowly slips from her arm. Out smiles stay firm on our cheeks. She turns. I move. We go separate ways. It is not over. Far from it. Out love has begun. And for the rest of my life. I shall hold. Shall love. Shall cherish. What society threw away. My loving. Beautiful. Intelligent. Quiet. Innocent. Anti-Social Butterfly.