The Butterfly

I stare at you once more. I’ve been told that when I stare that it’s become less obvious then the stares I would give in the past. Somehow you keep drawing my eyes back towards you as I take everything about you in. If someone asked me to compare you to something, I would say a butterfly. It maybe odd that I pick an insect to compare you with but yet, I think that nothing else will fit.

But people forget how delicate butterflies truly are. They only see the colors blurring the divide between earth and sky as wings flutter through the air. For a moment all we are entrapped by the beauty we see forgetting the frailty that God created them with. Maybe that’s why I compared you to them when I first met you. For all you beauty it seemed like fragility clung to your shoulders almost as if it created translucent wings seeming to turn you into a fairy.

As I stare, compiling a profile of you in my head I wonder is it wrong. I try to stop this, looking at people, sizing them up, watching actions and listening to words analyzing them to understand them and learn how to avoid them if needed. Looking at my profile I fear that I will judge you on it. That I’ll push away the chance to get to know you and just become friends with the idea that I think you might be.

So where does this leave us as I continue to stare at you? Will you always be the butterfly to me or will you become a friend?