Ayyaiah

Perhaps they got it from butterflies.

This idea that hope could still exist, even after you've been convincing yourself that it doesn't. I hadn't believed in it, and I didn't want anyone to try to convince me otherwise. I cut myself off from people, stopped finding joy in the activities I used to like, and just existed in a useless cycle of days.

Now I couldn't fully explain why I felt this way, but deep down I wondered: perhaps because there wasn't anything to look forward to. Everything was expensive, people were becoming uglier to each other and the planet, my job didn't lead anywhere, and if I complained about it out of frustration, the older folks around me told me to grow or toughen up.

So I sank.

It wasn't until weeks later when my cat licked my fingers and curled inside my arm, waking me up. She'd stayed with me every day in the dark, still seeking my affections. Because she chose to.

I then chose to do my own seeking within myself, knowing that I didn't have to mold to a world that took away my joy. Beauty existed somewhere out there and somewhere within me, despite it having been consumed or hidden in darkness. It was an idea that I desired to share with every other broken soul who might not have had a cat to serve as their beacon.

Such a liberating sensation.

Perhaps they got it from butterflies.