Tracing Butterflies

When butterflies start to flutter around the sky once every season I try to be optimistic. I remind myself of all the things butterflies represent for people. Freedom, lack of restraint, maybe lack of insecurity. I want to think good things, pretty thoughts, peaceful sounds. I don’t though. When a butterfly enters my sight, my mind races back to her. The sweet click her tongue made when she was thinking hard about something, the loose fitted tank tops she wore to late night parties, the curly fiery hot hair that shaded her uncentered eyes. But most of all I think of the collection of butterflies tattooed on the upper backside of her neck. My fingers traced those butterflies every time we saw each other, over and over again. And the last time we saw each other I wanted so badly to reach down into that box and trace that tattoo again. One last rub around the ink. I didn’t care if the spot on her skin wouldn’t be warm anymore, or that it lacked the radiant pigmentation everyone remembered her for. I just wanted one more moment with her and that silly butterfly tattoo.