The Memoir Of Ms. Butterfly

Six years.
I don’t know how it’s been six years. I don’t know where the time went. All I know is that something in me has been missing ever since you left, and no amount of time has filled that space.

Some days I can function. Some days I don’t even realize how much I’m carrying. And then days like today come, and everything feels heavy again. The silence feels louder. The absence feels sharper.

The only thing that brings me any real comfort is knowing you aren’t in pain anymore. Knowing no one is holding you back. Knowing you’re free in ways you never got to be here. That’s the part I hold onto when it hurts too much.

And I hope—honestly, I know—you’re enjoying all the sweets you weren’t allowed to have here. I picture that sometimes. It makes me smile through the ache. It’s one of the only times missing you feels a little less cruel.

I miss you.
I still miss you.
Six years later, it hasn’t gotten smaller—just quieter.

By: Ms. Butterfly Genesis