She Was A Butterfly

I see now that I knew her well; through and through.

All five of her little fingers, grasped tightly to the door handle in the backseat. Watching from the inside, looking out as everything wizzed by. She saw some trees and also bushes that held yellow flowers, and houses that looked like homes where people that were called families lived. She had learned, before that moment sitting in the backseat at the age of 5, that things weren't always what they seemed to be. She sat there, watching quietly, as she would always tend to do till she closed her eyes for the very last time.

She felt something that day, as she watched all those images passing her by - so quickly, that she barely had time to take it all in. But she did take every bit of it in and this feeling wasn't young or fresh or lively. This feeling was very heavy and it rested atop her "assumingly" new soul, and caused her eyes to fall. But even as this heaviness became something she ceased to question, her eyes were only ever down for just a mere moment. And as her legs grew longer and her face grew older, she realized that they were always just moments.

And her eyes...the eyes that God had given to that child; the eyes that were never without a sweetness to them, looked up, once again out that window, to see everything that she was meant to see. Her little hand turned and turned the door handle until the window was all the way down and open and all the wind that ever existed blew right through her soft and tender being.

She closed her eyes for a moment and felt it all. Then she opened her eyes, smiling to herself, and flew away.