Butterflies for Ricki

You search for them, like little pieces of euphoria.
They’re symbolic of infatuation and come and go in inconsistent flurries.
When you look for them they’re intangible and elusive.
Yet when least expected they flutter by and stay indeterminably.

Such understated beauty, built tediously by caring and meticulous hands, such a fragile thing. Don’t touch too hard, they’ll break and don’t hold too tight or you’ll tear a wing.
So abundant when you’re young, you used to see them everywhere all the time.
Now they’re rare and valuable, I hardly see them anywhere anymore.

Timeless, as a young girl’s favorite thing: always and forever a symbol of being in between.