Friday, 2 August 2013

Bed rest and butterflies



Day two of being horrifically poorly, and I'm going insane. As much as I love my beautiful, pink room, anywhere where you feel trapped quickly resembles a prison, no matter how much you dress it up with shiny mirrors and flowery linen.

And I can't get this quote out my mind now:
'T'is just like a summer bird-cage in a garden: the birds that are without despair to get in, and the birds that are within despair and are in a consumption for fear they shall never get out'  (The White Devil).

This room is my birdcage.

It's so easy to lie in bed early morning, soaking up the squishy goodness of a soft, warm duvet, drifting in and out of pleasant little naps, and to wish you could lay there all day, with nothing to be concerned about except maybe flipping your pillow every few hours.

But now I am trapped here, the outside world mocking me through my window with it's blue sky and lush greenery. I see other human beings out there living their lives, enjoying the sun... their happy, healthy faces confusing my sorrow-filled mind. Was I once one of them? It's been so long, I no longer remember the day I wore something other than pajamas. And the sweet splash of rain, or warm kiss of sunshine feels like a distant memory, from a story read once to me long ago...



Maybe I'm exaggerating, but then again, maybe I'm not? Who even knows anymore?!

But today I made a little friend...


Like me, she was trapped and confused, staring wistfully out of the window wondering how to once again join her peers in the open world.



Butterflies have always captivated me. I used to be terrified of them, but I'm slowly conquering my phobia of flying things. I think some of my fascination came from the fear. They're so beautiful and seem so reckless and care-free. Their lives are so short - some butterflies life-spans' are merely a day, and yet they fill that day with beauty and sunlight. They're like fireworks or shooting stars, just a quick flash of brilliance then gone.



I watched my little friend fluttering manically, her wings pounding against the glass. A sudden torrential rain-fall had just ceased and the brilliant sunlight was reflecting on the heavy droplets, magnifying the vivid green leaves. The outside world looked so perfect, no wonder she didn't want to be stuck in my room, with its' synthetic colours and fake flowers.


Sooty soon came skulking over, the little demon, and was equally fascinated... then she tried to capture it. A little part of me wanted to capture it too, to photograph it from every angle and preserve its' beauty forever.


But why should we both suffer? Of course I let her go.

And now I'll never see it ever again, it might even be dead.

And I'm still ill and miserable.

If this reaches you, outside world, please don't forget me. As soon as I'm better I'll start beating my wings too and someone will let me out, won't they?

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