sunlight splintered.

giving unto itself. a tactful moment for all those who went blind. of human touch, of dirty faith, pitying without degrading and envying without becoming less for wanting something of some other. Did you ever stop to think why is it that a butterfly can let chaos loose on this world, rather than some other hideous insect that reminds us of the muck in our memories, similar to guilt, but not quite repentful, clinging to the reasons that were as human and as alive as my fingers curling around the cord of a rising helium balloon?