Butterfly | Part Two of Fireflies

Last week I stood on the edge of a cliff, inches away from Death. Literally. And as I stood there, two things flashed through my head. The first:

Dear God, give me wings.

A butterfly fluttered past. It was pale yellow and black, and maybe He didn't really give me wings, but in that moment it felt like He did. Even if it was just a fragile, harmless creature, there was something there to protect me, to be with me if I did fall, and perhaps to fly my soul upward if it came to that. The second:

 

Don't think, just jump.

I told myself this over and over. The more I thought about it, the more terrified I became. So I finally forced myself to stop thinking. Because when I think too hard, my heart beats faster, my head starts to spin, and I can't think straight.

 

Life is like that. Life is like that chasm, waiting for me to lose my footing so it can swallow me up. I can't think too hard or I have an emotional breakdown. In fact, I can feel one coming on now, so I'm going to stop thinking about it because I've already had three today and crying gives me a headache. So I'll just stick to the metaphors.

 

Life is like that chasm. Completely and unavoidably there. But the butterfly was there, too. It gave me Hope, but I never would have seen it if I hadn't looked up.

 

I look up at night and see stars. Fireflies caught in an endless expanse of dark, their light only ever seen at night. Each one tragically, heartbreakingly, immortally beautiful. And each one gives me Hope.

 

Because Life isn't always kind, but it is beautiful.