Butterflies take longer to grow
Then the time they have to live,
Yet each time the wind blows
There they are
Sitting on someone’s windowsill
A backless red dress, and a small tattoo on the left side of her spine. Goosebumps form as she straightens her back against the cold emptiness of the bar.
Kohl-lined eyes searching for someone, every time the door opens she looks towards it expecting him to
walk in. She used to make fun of the way he walked, but now she looks for that gait in everyone that
swings the door open.
She waits for a soft caress of his hands across her exposed back. It’s been years since she last saw him,
since she said her last goodbyes as he found a new life. A life that she wasn’t a part of anymore.
It’s not like her life had revolved around thoughts of him after he left. She had moved on, her acceptance
into a top dance company, marking a new chapter in her life. She dated multiple people to prove to
herself that intimacy didn’t have to revolve around one person. A part of her believed that if the love was
true under no amount of distance would it diminish. She was wrong, she knows that now, she learned the
hard way.
She gets another drink, lost in her train of thought, she doesn’t see him come in.
They had met 6 years ago, back when the world was full of possibilities and nothing had a sense of
permanence. She was 21 and in the middle of discovering what she wanted out of life.
It didn’t help that her uncle who reads horoscopes pulled her mom aside to divulge information that he
was alarmed by. To make matters worse, he made it abundantly clear that the next ten years of her life
would be full of constant hurdles.
She brushed it off; who doesn't struggle in their twenties?
It took her time to warm up to the idea of him, it was difficult to accept that somebody could love her. She
could never imagine sitting quietly in a room with someone, feeling no need to perform. With him, it felt
natural; the small gestures of intimacy didn’t feel forced. Conversations had a sense of challenge, and the
thought of getting to know him filled her with a newfound sense of purpose. She tried desperately to not
let feelings consume her, but slowly her days began and ended with him.
Then he moved to another state. Leaving her with her uncle’s words.
She looks up and she sees him - a face she thought about far more often than
she would like to admit. He looks the same, but his smile seemed to come
easier.
The conversation is as good as she remembers it to be, as the drinks flow, and the barsounds
dwindle. She is moved to ask him the questions that haunt her.
What if?
What if you didn't move?
What if I tried a bit harder to get you to stay?
She twirls on pointe as the audience blurs.
It had been two years since they met again, rekindling a fire that burned as fiercely, and fading just as
quickly as it did the first time.
This time her doubts are answered. Unshackled from the “what if’s” and “could haves," she realized
that fate intertwined with choices that are made.
And the next time the wind blows, while fate may guide her, the windowsill she chooses to land on is
entirely up to her.
