It was a tiny box all wrapped in shiny paper with a tiny little bow, almost too fragile to open ;slowly as the tiny bow undid and the shiny paper divided revealing   pink tissue paper   scrunched  between fingers eager  to unveil   the pretty pink butterflie that lay hidden in its folds.

The perfect present for a delicate heart, one that spoke to her in poetry of how delicate butterflies cannot be caught and she knew that to try to catch the butterflie she would destroy it so she must leave it and remember.


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