butterfly [Theme] Page 2

They sit down in the grass to rest "...

- What we humans lack is patience. I realized this only after exchanged the seventh decade. This is very accurately conveyed by the parable of the butterfly. We, when we notice a pupa, can't wait to see a butterfly, only a few wait for the natural sequence, but basically, having caught how hard an insect breaks into the light, they hurry to help him by breaking the cocoon. But due to the fact that the butterfly was deprived of this necessary struggle, its wings remain weak and cannot raise the body of God's creature, because of which it can only crawl, and then, without feeling the taste of flight, dies. If it's hard for you, Miss, know that your own wings are gaining the necessary strength so that you can complete some kind of metamorphosis. Just do not forget that the doll can not see itself from the outside, it needs someone who will tell it how it looks. That is why we need friends and, of course, loved ones - their eyes are a true mirror, in it you can see yourself without the tinsel that we ourselves hang around. But don't look at any people, only at those you trust. And the rest are those who, out of envy or meanness, or maybe just out of bad temper or even boredom, will try to break your cocoon of personality.
- But how do you determine who's who?
- As soon as you feel when interacting with someone, as something presses on your head, or even squeezes from all sides - this is violence. Just like if someone takes a pupa of a real butterfly and squeezes in their fingers.
- But there are situations when a person puts himself in a frame and it is simply vital to forcibly extract him from there.
- That's correct. But in order not to become a prisoner of oneself, you need to know one effective medicine.
- Which one?
- Honesty with yourself. Then you will never miss the moment when you squeeze yourself in the grip. If you keep in touch with the inner self, you will "hear" how the walls of the cocoon of personality crack. People are peculiar creatures, they can easily destroy themselves from the inside, looking for those to blame in a particular situation, instead of reconciling themselves first of all. I see it as running behind the shadows.
- Just not to stop, so as not to look back and see what he has done. It's always easier to slam a door to a cluttered room than to clean it up.
- Exactly...

In the air saturated with the smell of seaweed and iridescent glittered butterfly. One moment he felt the touch of her wings to her parched lips. But the pollen of the wings that settled on his lips, rosy shimmered even many years later.

The flap of a butterfly wing on one side of the ocean can cause a tsunami on the other side.

Oh butterfly, what are you asleep
Here, in the field, on the stalk drooped?
A flower, which fell asleep
You are destined.
From spring to autumn frosts
Flew you here openanno.
You in the morning
The dew on the flowers was intoxicated.
In the evening
The dream was serene and sweet.
About if in Nirvana in Nirvana
With colors completely disappear!

It always happens in the spring: look what a wonderful world. At this time I sometimes wish I was born a butterfly... or a flower...

In my opinion personally, the love is a clean shirt. Love is not soup. Love is not a clean house, it always can make other people. Love is totally different, it is allure, it's chemistry, it's butterflies in the stomach.

- What are you composing? - I'm afraid to move.
- The snow patterns that help the butterflies to fly. I understand grace. They have to write people - chocolate boy nods again, and I can't turn back.
- I'm afraid - pay.
- Don't be afraid, you hear?
- I can't.
Butterfly, chocolate boy puts hot palms on my shoulders, and then hugs. In his arms I tremble and shudder, clinging to the long fingers, thin lines, filled with sea air and crystals. I don't see chocolate eyes and the flicker in their depths, but still can't Wake up.

- Don't be afraid, grace. I'm not sick anymore really, just me there reason keep. I think I've gone mad, since my son died and I'm okay, you know? I'm alive, - Mrs. Sanders holds me tight, sinking down on the icy floor. Is it about hospitals and physicians, blinded from fatigue in the New Year, just the Skater.
The moth, of course, alive. And very beautiful.
And will freeze soon, girls, Dylan drags us old things, remembering that the house-nothing remained. - Butterflies, Moths and Writer. Freeze.

If you think that won the game called love, that is also wrong as you think... because love will soon be back behind the mountain to wait for you... to once again stick you with my dagger, from the blood will appear butterflies in my stomach, I came back to this game.

Butterflies appear on your body every night, bump in the skin. Black paint spread, and they soar and die. Wings burn and scatter the ashes... the Black fire dancing, feathers swirling, and they are dying on the altar is the Requiem for a dream.

She was not dragged to the light and she chose the darkness.
She rejoiced in the sun - she loved the mist.
It was not the normal road - she chose the hat'.
She dreamed of becoming an unusual butterfly - and turned into an ordinary fucking!

You cannot take a flowery butterfly by the wings and not to erase her colorful dust, to change its pattern, which, with a ceremonial banner, she flew out in God's morning.

Sometimes it is enough only a little light to turn phobia of butterflies.