butterfly
© 1995 Devon Koren

    "what's the matter? she's not smiling!"
    "quick, someone throw me a bucket of rain!"
    splash.
    she told me she didn't believe in love songs anymore, and like the fool i always was, i believed her, and kept pouring my heart into the keys of the piano. melodies lost forever in the snow, i close my eyes and imagine how many, but one, two, three, four, and once more salvation is lost. the door flies open, so i stare at my hands. my fingers are long, and i miss the feel of ivory icicles beneath the tips. a carousel of notes. hang on swiftly, lass, if you blink once more, then we'll fly. magic carpet? no, i don't think so. i never believed in arabian myths.
    my feet touch the ground. needles prick into my sole my soul and now i lost my other shoe. if i learned how to tie the laces i suppose they would not fall off my feet as they always do, but i keep waiting, hoping that there will be something more, something brighter than this. bigger. brighter. better. i do not like bees.
    oh, god, if only i could be something other than this changing chameleon girl, just for a little while. if only one more night i could touch the stars and breathe and breathe and watch the moon fall. blink. eyelash against your cheek and wait i might as well be lost again. close my eyes and let me think. do i believe in you anymore, santa clause? i don't know. i don't care. i never realized. but love is a lie. because it ends with fifty. and fifty also begins lost, you know. always. i don't care how or why or when, just who, and may i dear, ask who are you? but no, cried the butterfly, i was never really here no you never really saw me no you never really cared, and i forgot once more once less that children often evolve into adults or something far worse called adolescence and i want to close my eyes all tight and smile again i want to believe in summer i want to believe in you. stream of consciousness. what do you think? or perhaps there is another dress would prefer me to buy? but there's something on the screen, dear, and i cannot make out your features anymore. who am i? except martyr alice girl martyr alice bitch. no, don't thank me, i had already had enough soup. but smile, i won't be angry, i promise. there are other mountains beyond these hills. there are other ice creams all ready to be tasted in a velvet crystal dish that cats began to lick their lips upon long ago once upon a time in egypt. i remember egypt, don't you? i remember fire in cairo. palms and eyes and faith i think once before i probably had to believe in something. i don't know what happened to me. perhaps i became a butterfly, like you. or perhaps i only wanted to die. but pocketknives are so far beyond my comprehension anymore. and this originally started out as a fairy tale but it has become something far, far worse than i could have ever imagined. but don't worry, even if my stories don't have happy endings, it all depends on your perspective anyway. blink. but don't look. she doesn't know just yet. and if i could sleep then neither would i, you know. neither would i.