The Memoir Of Ms. Butterfly

The mind knows the road ahead,
winding, marked, resolute.
It whispers, “No looking back,
no turning to what once was.”

But the heart, that tender rebel,
clutches the shards of yesterday,
a curator of could-have-been,
despite the mouth’s wayward truths.

To feel needed, to feel wanted,
to be loved—these are not sins.
They are echoes of being human,
the language of every fragile heart.

But the burden of waiting
for a love long faded to bloom anew.
The heart wrestles with the impossible,
while the mind bows to the inevitable.

Perhaps letting go is not forgetting,
But learning to carry the love differently,
not as chains but as lessons,
not as longing but as light.

Ms. Butterfly Genesis