The Butterflies Still Sing.

I spread before me
                 the pictures of you
that I've collected over the years

Memories and mementos.

Each one filed carefully in my heart
under "Mistress".

I look at all the wrong choices
                 and mistakes
We have made.

I look at all the love we wrapped around each other,
                 glittering in the air
    like snow
or like diamonds.

I read the words,
the promises and disappointments,

and find I am no longer bitter.

I hold each picture dearly,
Even those most painful.

You've shaped me into who I am,
molded me into myself.

I am thankful.

Even though I have moved past,
and the white rabbit doesn't run so fast,
the haberdasher goes about his own business,
and the caterpillar has transformed;

I still see you in my dreams.

But still I am not bitter.

The butterflies still sing to me
And still the notes are sweet.

They no longer say your name,
but whisper wordless melodies
            into my skin.

I am sorry that their song brings you pain.

And I am sorry that so many promises went unfulfilled.

But please remember -

If I never had to share you, you would still be mine.

I wanted nothing more than to belong to you.
But I needed it to be only me.

I'm sorry I was so selfish.

I'm sorry that the butterflies no longer sing to you.