The Memoir Of Ms. Butterfly

I opened a chapter of my life,
I thought she might read my words,
Understand my heart,
Comprehend the weight of where I stood.

But her response?
“Throw it away”—as if feelings could be discarded,
Like remnants of broken things.

Yet what I feel is not trash.
It’s love—
Love for someone who was my person
Though I was never theirs.

From the sidelines, I hope,
I pray for a sliding door to open,
To slip back inside the space we shared,
To rewrite the story without time’s shackles.

I love him for more than reasons:
For the way, he gave me wings.
With him, I was me,
He made me feel—
Butterflies, fire, and untethered desire.

I didn’t have to think;
I learned to follow the trail of my feelings,
To love him as fiercely as myself.
And now, ten years—ten lifetimes—later,
When they tell me to discard him,
To get rid of a decade’s worth of aching truths,
I ask,
How do you throw love away?

Love is not disposable.
Love is the journey of bruises and beauty,
The lessons are carved by pain and strength.
Love is grace,
It’s kindness.
Love is life’s mirror—
Love is you.

Ms. Butterfly Genesis