Butterfly
I wrote this awhile.
It's alright, but it needs some work.
So there once was a girl who made friends with the butterflies near the pond by her home and spoke to them as if they were life long friends. She told them stories of the girls at school and how they would laugh as she told them about her butterfly friends, but she didn't care. She would speak of the people she'd loved, for at the time she couldn't name anyone she'd lost. Oh how she would long to lose someone, not because she didn't care for anyone in her life. It was actually the opposite, something her grandmother told her as they rocked on her front porch swing. Her grandmother looked at her and said, "baby girl, remember those you love, because once they're gone, you're only going to love them more and they won't be there for love you back.” Now that girl, she was wise beyond her years. She shared things with those butterflies that many people have yearned to know. She spoke her heart out. To those butterflies. Her grandmother once told her to share her deepest secrets with nature, because it was the only thing that would truly understand. She believed it. She believed in many things. She believed that in time, everything worked itself out. Her grandmother once told her she was an "old soul" and she didn't quite know what it meant, but she liked the sound of it. Her grandmother told her many things, stories of things. People. All loved and lost. Grandmother once told her in order to be lost one must be found first. The girl didn't quite understand it, but she liked how it seemed to roll off her grandmothers’ tongue. Her grandmother was a wise woman. She once told her grandmother that she was wise beyond her years. Her grandmother chuckled, her cheeks slightly rosy from the crackling fire, “baby doll, that's where you've got it wrong. I’m right on track; it's everyone else that's late."
She told the girl to remember everything she said because someday she wouldn't be around to remind her of such things. The girl didn't quite understand, but she wrote down everything her grandmother said and locked it away in a box that smelled of roses. a box that her grandmother had given her for her 7th birthday, telling her to wait and keep something inside it that mattered because at the end of time everything you've learned and loved should be able to fit inside a box. She said every person that would ever matter to her would end up inside a box and it was only right that the thoughts and lessons they experienced along the way shared the same fate.
Her grandmothers’ time came, as everyone’s does but unlike most, her grandmother embraced it. In fact, she had a locked trunk sitting on the linoleum floor beside her hospital bed, a trunk that smelled of roses. a trunk that was filled with thoughts and letters and lessons learned along the way. She held her granddaughters hand and smiled as she told her what to do. She said "baby girl, I want you to take this trunk and I want you to keep it. I want you to take this key, and on the day your granddaughter turns seven I want you to take the box you've filled with memories along the way and I want you to empty it into the trunk. Then give the box I gave you, the box that smells of roses to your granddaughter and tell her to do the same thing i told you on your 7th birthday. This way, she said, by the time the trunk fills up and the last grandbaby is born. that baby she said, will be the luckiest baby in the history of man. For that baby, will have all the secrets we all wished we'd known along the way."
It's alright, but it needs some work.
So there once was a girl who made friends with the butterflies near the pond by her home and spoke to them as if they were life long friends. She told them stories of the girls at school and how they would laugh as she told them about her butterfly friends, but she didn't care. She would speak of the people she'd loved, for at the time she couldn't name anyone she'd lost. Oh how she would long to lose someone, not because she didn't care for anyone in her life. It was actually the opposite, something her grandmother told her as they rocked on her front porch swing. Her grandmother looked at her and said, "baby girl, remember those you love, because once they're gone, you're only going to love them more and they won't be there for love you back.” Now that girl, she was wise beyond her years. She shared things with those butterflies that many people have yearned to know. She spoke her heart out. To those butterflies. Her grandmother once told her to share her deepest secrets with nature, because it was the only thing that would truly understand. She believed it. She believed in many things. She believed that in time, everything worked itself out. Her grandmother once told her she was an "old soul" and she didn't quite know what it meant, but she liked the sound of it. Her grandmother told her many things, stories of things. People. All loved and lost. Grandmother once told her in order to be lost one must be found first. The girl didn't quite understand it, but she liked how it seemed to roll off her grandmothers’ tongue. Her grandmother was a wise woman. She once told her grandmother that she was wise beyond her years. Her grandmother chuckled, her cheeks slightly rosy from the crackling fire, “baby doll, that's where you've got it wrong. I’m right on track; it's everyone else that's late."
She told the girl to remember everything she said because someday she wouldn't be around to remind her of such things. The girl didn't quite understand, but she wrote down everything her grandmother said and locked it away in a box that smelled of roses. a box that her grandmother had given her for her 7th birthday, telling her to wait and keep something inside it that mattered because at the end of time everything you've learned and loved should be able to fit inside a box. She said every person that would ever matter to her would end up inside a box and it was only right that the thoughts and lessons they experienced along the way shared the same fate.
Her grandmothers’ time came, as everyone’s does but unlike most, her grandmother embraced it. In fact, she had a locked trunk sitting on the linoleum floor beside her hospital bed, a trunk that smelled of roses. a trunk that was filled with thoughts and letters and lessons learned along the way. She held her granddaughters hand and smiled as she told her what to do. She said "baby girl, I want you to take this trunk and I want you to keep it. I want you to take this key, and on the day your granddaughter turns seven I want you to take the box you've filled with memories along the way and I want you to empty it into the trunk. Then give the box I gave you, the box that smells of roses to your granddaughter and tell her to do the same thing i told you on your 7th birthday. This way, she said, by the time the trunk fills up and the last grandbaby is born. that baby she said, will be the luckiest baby in the history of man. For that baby, will have all the secrets we all wished we'd known along the way."