The Butterflies

                It's morning. The city is alive and well. She is in the bathroom, in front of the mirror, double checking all of her imperfections. She hasn’t realized I’m awake yet, and all I can think is how perfect she really is... It’s been four years.  Four very difficult years, and she has been there through it all.  The addiction, the anger, the depression.  It took two years before I had the courage to tell her how I felt.  Around her I feel—dumb, funny, supported and most importantly… loved.  I have never felt this way before, my heart flutters at the very thought of her. I have never met a more interesting person. We might not have much, but we have each other. I’m lucky, I know that.

                I light my cigarette; she looks over at me and smiles, puckering her lips and shaking her head.  She hates it, she tells me everyday how she wishes I would give up the drugs and smoking because “It takes precious minutes away that you could spend with me.” I wish I could, I’ve tried. But it affects my art and music too much when I’m off the shit. She comes over and puts my cigarette out. She kisses me and rubs her hand across the side of my head, she says, it reminds her of how a beagle feels, strange, I know.  “ I love you, Darling.” She says. It leaves me speechless.  She looks fantastic, black Chuck Taylors,  and skinny jeans, with a Queen  shirt. I close my eyes to take in the moment, and when I open them, I’m  not with her, I’m with him.

            It’s been almost three years, since I made my final mistake.
            I’m drug free now, With a family, surrounded with people who love me I’m Very much in love, but I will never get that back. I dream often about what I had, what I could have, I can’t change what I did, I wish I could, I wish I could just leave and go back, but strangely, I’m not unhappy here. I try to forget, but it is impossible.
      My heart still flutters.