dusty wings.

I picked the dying butterfly up off the garage floor in a heroic attempt to save it's life. All i did was wipe the colorful dust of it's wings. I couldn't bare to watch this beautiful creature die all alone on the floor of a dismal garage, so i took it to higher ground. I took it to the exact place i'd want to be when i die. I delicately placed the insect on top of a flower overlooking the sunset.

You know, I don't want to waste my last few breaths talking to friend on the phone, trying to get my mom to see my point of view, reading the latest best-seller, or shopping for a new dress. No, i think i'd spend it here. In this place. Doing absolutely nothing... but taking my last breath praising the one who gave me life.

And as i watched the sun disappear into the horizon i would quietly reflect on this life i'd lived to the fullest, letting go of my temporary past...embracing the eternal bliss that awaits me on the other side of the sun (son).

i keep wondering why that butterflies dust was rubbing off on my hands... then it hit me. butterflies werent meant to be held. they were meant to fly.