multicolored butterfly 🦋
I imagine I wouldn’t like it
if the seasons carried the winds,
telling tales of how to love,
choosing when to be warm or cold,
never fully unraveling,
because the time ain't right.
How we'd hold it in,
anticipating the passage of time,
as if love were bound to its rhythm,
as if space must bow
to the dominance of fleeting days.
But love—
true love—
is not a whisper of spring
nor the hush of winter’s hush,
not the burn of summer’s flame
nor the crisp retreat of fall.
Love is the sun that lingers,
the fire that does not falter,
a warmth that does not wait
for the world to call it forth.
It stands steady in storms,
breathes soft in stillness,
drapes the cold in gentle arms
and welcomes every dawn the same.
So here I kneel, hands in soil,
tending roots, watching the sky,
as you rest, delicate and free,
on a lilac swayed by the wind.
Little wanderer, do you fear the frost?
Do you long for endless spring?
Yet here you are, wings open wide,
trusting that love outlasts the cold.
If the seasons cannot hold you back,
if the sun still warms your flight,
then let me love you through it all—
in bloom, in storm, in fading light.
For love is timeless,
love is here,
love is now.
