Butterflies Always Die

Summary

The text is a reflective piece on the fleeting nature of beauty and connection, symbolized by the brief mating of butterflies.

Abstract

The author describes a profound experience of connection and introspection that unfolds over sixteen hours, mirroring the duration butterflies remain together for mating. Set against the backdrop of a silent island, the narrative captures a moment of shared silence between two individuals, devoid of action or disturbance. The encounter is characterized by a mutual revelation, where the participants' faces merge in a surreal interplay of light and clarity, seeking the mysterious in the light rather than darkness. The piece culminates with the realization that, like butterflies, such delicate moments are transient and destined to end, as the sea eventually washes them away.

Opinions

The author suggests that true connection can exist in silence, without the need for words or actions.
There is an appreciation for the beauty in transient experiences, as highlighted by the comparison to the brief lifespan of butterflies.
The text conveys a sense of awe

Poetic prose

PinkCat; Shutterstock

In times of fortune and misfortune I am always at the mercy of silence. Perhaps because I was born on an island where seldom does anything happen.

Yesterday the water and the light invaded my tongue’s buds, and I was forced to look at myself upside down. I could see the splendor of a naked butterfly ready to mate. Do you know for how long do two butterflies stay together? Sixteen hours. The exact time we spent together in the silence of the island.

Suspended in the between times energy neither of us moved. No cosmic sacrifice happened. No driving force was brought to life. No blood interfered between two consecutive breaths.

Everything was nothing else but the crisp silence of the light. The mystery of that you can see with your own eyes and touch with your own soul. No spots of dark. For the first time we decided to seek the mysterious in the light and not in darkness.

Behind the clarity of your face, my face appeared, then yours came behind the clarity of mine, and everything went like this like in a surrealist dream inverted upon itself.

At the end of the sixteen hours the sea washed us away.

I forgot to tell you. Butterflies always die.