BUTTERFLIES? Butterfly? It was a rusted sentiment for me. I had long forgotten the existence of little butterflies resting inside. However silly it sounds, it remained rusted— locked away, its password long forgotten. Up until now, I had only felt the literal ones. And then came him— it Started as a hollow sentiment, carving out space in my chest. Something unnamed, empty yet alive, a rhythm stirring deep inside, a little too restless to be ignored. I had yet to grasp its name. It felt novel, as though it had been locked away for rounds of suns. Waiting quietly for its key. "Maybe, just maybe" I whispered to the already drowsy little butterflies, "We'll find a key that fits. " And then him again— the roots inside me shaken, a little too restless to be ignored. His Arrival felt like a wrong thing that somehow felt right Oh, the life of little lives. He managed to electrify the outer shell, Stirring the quiet lives within. A sentiment of delicious poison engulfed me, But still — a sentiment. Is he just a fleeting trespasser? Or a familiar stranger, resting gently on my fragile walls? . May he not cling too hard as it rests. I only hope the key to not be lost again, not just as it's finally been found. ~~~