The Memoir Of Ms. Butterfly

I open the tattered book of yesterday,
Where familiar faces haunt every line—
A script of worn-out verses, repeated, unchanged.

Yet here I hold a pen of new resolve,
Gently erasing guilt with each fresh stroke.
I bid farewell not with anger but a soft promise,
That these characters, rooted in old ways,
Must learn to unbind—so I may turn the page.

Each word a quiet liberation,
Each pause an invitation to dawn’s uncharted light.

Ms. Butterfly Genesis