The thought of you.
It's odd how our lives turn out to be like. I mean, it's not like we can make much of a difference in what our tomorrow looks like. We can try our best to make life follow some guidelines we can set for it but it's really not that much.
I think I never told you about it. I don't think I can tell you about it, even now. Thinking about it makes me feel weak, fragile and worthless and that's not the image I want to shine out from my body. I want to feel confident, I want to look confident. Because when I feel confident, things turn out better than expected.
Yet, more than anything, I want you to feel my weakness. I want you to be the trunk of the tree I'm leaning against. You haven't seen me cry for ages. In fact, I haven't cried during the whole summer, barring one painful occasion. I have been confident, strong. I'm afraid that things will take a worse route if I let my guard down even once.
But the thought of you walking down a forest path, bathing in sunlight with eyes shining like a thousand suns. The innocence, and you picking up a fallen butterfly to bury it somewhere, somewhere beautiful. Butterflies on your way, and I may be the most fragile of them all.