“When I was a girl, a butterfly flew through a cracked window, into my room. It knocked back against the parchment, trying to find a way out. Into sunshine. Into air. Chalky wings palpitating. I reached for it, wanting to help. Tried to grab it, cup it in my hands, so I could deliver the thing back to freedom. But my gesture, my very touch, brought injury. The butterfly fell to the floor, wing torn.”
— Apr 19, 2026 01:31PM
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