Of butterflies and love

It is scientifically proven that a silkworm dies four times to be able to transform into a butterfly. And each time it dies, it turns out be worth the death - - It re-emerges into a much beautiful creature that it was ever before. But that’s not the reason for its death. It’s in the law of nature. So it has to. The law of metamorphosis thus states the evolutionary pattern of how an egg evolves into a silkworm when it turns itself into an adult. And then how a newborn silkworm has to die when it turns into an adult to be able to moult into a caterpillar. And when a caterpillar lives its teenage life, it surrounds itself under a cocoon and moults into a larva. And then at the end when a larva fulfils its desires and completes its teen, it dies. It dies while turning its body into ear shaped soft and colored wings. And then, a butterfly is born. It has to.


In retrospect, perhaps sometime later in life, the butterfly would realize that all the four chances were well worth the taking. It was. Have you seen a butterfly fluttering its astonishing wings around the blooming flowers? The wings and breathtaking beauty wasn’t an easy job for it to fly. It was once just a worm, the one you called nasty and didn’t want to come across. It took the exquisite butterfly four completely tragic stages and four deaths to come alive with the undying grandeur. But neither of it mattered now. Once its purpose was done, it died. It crumpled its heart, lived in a dark sticky cocoon for a while, it stiffened. All for a purpose. And that’s the thing with humans as well - - We die after our innate purposes are fulfilled.


"Turn around, please" I murmured to myself in an urge to see her once again and lose myself in the glance forever. I am sure she wasn’t from this world. Like, you can find glitters and igniting fire of her soul through her crystal clear eyes, they are bright brown and I am sure they are transparent but they hide more secrets than a dictionary hiding words in itself. And her nose is the best part of her face, so sleekly pointed and beautiful. Her ever blushing cheeks and the hot red lips burn my heart down into ashes everytime I look at them. I can’t even think what would happen to my lungs when I feel her fragrance for the first time. I am astonished how she could never need makeup to seem exquisite. She might even burn my whole soul down. Her hair, so straight at the top and perfectly waved at the bottom look as if she’s hid a thousand shimmery stars in them. Only her face can drive me so crazy, I can’t even dare to look at the rest of her body. I just promise myself that she must be beautiful. Yet she was the most beautiful girl I’ve come across.


I was walking down the college aisle when I saw her for the first time. It has been two years to our first meeting. Almost two years to the college life, I’d say. In these two years, we’ve made memories together. So many memories that it’ll take me forever to count them up. We have had talks about every wonderful thing on this earth. From stars to the ocean, birds superman, flowers, star wars, forests and what not. But, I never thought we’d ever be talking about love at an instance. The first time we considered love as an option to be talking about, I found her being a little hesitant. I couldn’t even ask her why. We went on, but then I had to change the topic so that she stops feeling a little out of place -- I discovered a frown on her face when I came up with the idea of love. Why would a beauty like her, ever hate the word love? Why would she act weird? Why would she seem upset at this? I always found myself in a dilemma until the day we were sitting on the concrete wall near the lake to have a better view at it. It was the day when she told me why was she was reluctant to talk of love. She told me when she was in school, back in her hometown, she loved a guy. So much so that she could do anything for him if he asked to. But he never did. We were sitting facing different directions, our feet on grass. 'I knew he didn’t love me' she said.

My silence was distinct. The reasons for them even more so.

She went on -- 'I feared telling him because I thought it would break our friendship’. I look at the back of her head and want to say that I am in a similar predicament, but I don’t. I didn’t have the courage to tell her that I loved her. Something of me fit into her spaces and something of her into mine it seemed.

I turned towards her, seeing the lusture of her hair, imagining her eyes, they maybe full of tears, maybe moan, I felt like hugging her real hard, but this remained a wish.

Expecting some consolations, she looked at me strangely. 'This is probably the last conversation we are having while I am a teenager' I quipped while looking at her brown glittery eyes. 'It’s my birthday tomorrow’, I added. Much to my surprise, she asked for a party. Not wasting a moment, I agreed.


Fast forward to the next evening - - we were sitting around a round-table. I could feel her frock touching my trousers gently. I thought to make this the day. For I had gathered enough courage since the last night already.

I looked into her eyes and said 'I want to say something’, 'Hmm? ' she asked. 'I.. I love you' that’s what I said. Direct and simple. No if’s and no follow ups. ‘I… I love you’.

I was waiting for her to react. She leaned in, held my hand into her cushion like warm palms. I lost my vision for the rest of the world but her. Her hands were softer than the softness of a bird’s feather. I could feel it all soothing. She smiled and said: 'Happy Birthday, adult’.

The restaurant seemed to turn into a dark, stifling, sticky confines of a shell.

Something struggled to push towards the light as if star dust blew off harder than ever.

I died.