The Memoir Of Ms. Butterfly

Tears linger just behind my eyes, Not born of rage nor sorrow’s disguise. But of comfort, strange and unplanned moments shared with the one who first held my hand.

She was unyielding, with words sharp and bare, no cushioning of feelings, and no room for despair.

“Rid yourself of these emotions,” she sternly declares, “Life has so much more than love’s fleeting airs.”

And I agree—life holds a vast view. But missing from mine is the person I knew. Anger simmers—does she see, does she care?

Or is indifference cloaked in the air?

I wrestle with trust and letting her in. Guarded and vulnerable, where do I begin? If my mother can’t see the ache in my chest, who else could understand and invest?

She should be my haven, compass, friend, and confidante on whom I could always depend. But her eyes brush past the anguish I hold—my love, my loss, my story untold.

Still, I must face her with honesty and grace, even when her warmth feels misplaced. I yearn to impart love and understanding to bridge the divide that tugs at my heart.

Ms. Butterfly Genesis