Where did all the butterflies go?
Where did all the butterflies go? It’s empty within these walls and I can hear the echoes of longing reverberate through my soul. There’s no furniture to absorb these Melodies of affection, it’s cold concrete. My hallowed chest is like Mars, life cannot grow here. Where is the spark? Can I conjure light? It’s dark here and solitary looks good on me, especially when I pair it with some red bottoms. A stylish abyss. This canvas will not absorb paint and this paper rejects ink.
I’ve been trying to envisage what it felt like to have a heart bubbling with endearment; to have a life littered with tiny gestures that show someone somewhere thinks the world of me. But my mind won’t move. Scared of the past it won’t move. To reflect on the past is to open wounds. I do not have scars because I do not heal, just an endless stream of blood and pain. I try to retrieve from the archives of agony the exact moment my life became monochrome and it seems reasons are endless. Could it be when she said, “Someone would love you, but someone isn’t me,” or when she said, “My life was easier when you were not in it?”
Why do words spoken to me fall on muddy grounds? They used to sprout into beautiful bouquets of intimacy. Now they struggle to get sunlight; it seems they’ve been planted in grout. Who is this man I have become? There’s no twinkle in my eyes and my lips hardly form a crescent. What happened to me? Is there a magic word to open my heart, or has the constant plummeting sealed it for all of eternity? My words are filled with thistles and thorns; I do not recognise the man I have become.
My heart was pierced by Cupid once. I smiled at love letters and rejoiced at the thought of someone. I cannot remember the details, my mind won’t move, but I know my hands have written about love even if they’re now obsolete. I know my heart has sung songs with the lyrics being the name of someone considered a precious jewel. I feel her smile is lustrous, and she has stars for eyes. I cannot remember, my mind is paralyzed.
Do I want to go back? Do I want to know the reason for my pain? Do I want to confront the reason for this affliction? Will the answers ease my mind? I need to remember, I need to remember.
The other day I had pancakes and it made me sad. Why is that? I had an overwhelming set of pictures of it in my gallery, so this is something I used to love. Why does it taste like bile in my mouth? I need a drink, maybe two or three, but then I’ll forget.
I do not want to ever again experience nights where I watch the sunset and rise without missing the full glory of the moon. I want to sleep, but this bleeding will not stop.
I remembered last August like I do every 365 days, but that was two months ago. Everything is becoming blurry again. I think I drank too much.
I’m Seuncaleb, Omo ìfẹ́, and these words are meant to be felt.
