The little girl donned the sheer butterfly wings, snapping the elastic bands over her shoulders. She sprinted through the house, pink socks skidding on hardwood floors, as her wings carried her through places she couldn’t even imagine.
Two wings, freedom.
Flying without bounds.
Transformation, then beauty.
And perfection.
Never lost in the world,
For the world is created for your standards.
Who could harm you, delicate creature?
For you are the reflection of human desires.
She swore one day she’d spread her wings; she swore one day she would be gone. The swamp suffocated her, hiding her colors among its mud and dirt. She took a deep breath, she closed her eyes, and she flew, flew, flew away. And she never looked back.
I think about Alice in Wonderland…
Singing “little bread and butterflies kiss the tulips…
All in a golden afternoon”
Songs from kindergarten, butterflies on the wing
Fragile fleeting memories
Delicate and beautiful and brave.
when i was a little girl there was a butterfly caught on our window screen. in plucking off the butterfly i realized that i actually pulled off its little wings. poor little butterfly i thought. and there began a horrifying habit that no little girl should have. i began to catch butterflies along the way to rip off their little wings – unknowingly, unwittingly, unflinchingly. who knows…
What a beautiful flight that one butterfly has. It has such a short time in which to spread it’s wings and enjoy all that life has to offer. What brilliance but at what a mighty cost.
It didn’t take long for the butterfly to fly into Donny’s mouth. Standing there propped up against the tree, with nothing but an eternity to close, Donny watched as the tiny insect grew closer and closer, till finally it perched itself upon his tongue.
Butterfly. You’re so gentle like one. WE were like a butterfly. Symmetrical, in every way. We were one, two peas in a pod. Something more than what we call, reality. I swear, in that moment we were infinite. Like a butterfly. We’re all such delicate humans, waiting….
I’m a butterfly swimmer.
I’m also a take-no-prisoners, bear-no-injuries, justice-to-the-wall type swimmer.
I’m the kind of swimmer your mother warned you about – the one who takes pride in being able to drown you and save you all at the same time.
I’m the kind of swimmer you fear behind the blocks, because I look like I could rip you to pieces when I smile.
I’m a butterflier.
Better fly away.
a butterfly lands on a tree, its wings fluttering softly in the wind.
butterflies represent change. i wish i could do that, go from an ugly caterpillar to a beautiful butterfly. if only i could hibernate a while and suddenly come out a totally different person.
Something we can all gain inspiration from. A little caterpillar stays in its cocoon until you lose hope it will ever come out. But when it finally does, it is a beautiful creature. Everyone has a butterfly in them inside.
I wish I could paint the sea of my breath with wings so that its waves might soar instead of crash. I wish that the color of my teeth was not so beautiful in the night that it left flecks of illumination on the minds of fluttering-through-life butterflies. This isn’t a smile, ladies and gentlemen, this is the coming of something swift and magestic.
The butterfly floated, not touching the ground. It fluttered it’s wings, not making a sound. So fragile and soft, its beauty so still. Free of the world and free of its will. But touch it you may, for who could resist, the gentleness of the butterfly’s kiss. But then it would stop, and fall to the ground. And no one would weep for it made no sound.
She had never understood why this particular nauseous feeling was described as “a stomach full of butterflies”. There was nothing remotely pretty or graceful about the sensation that her intestines were slowly winding themselves around her other organs, squeezing tighter with each passing panicked moment. She ascended the stage steps with mounting alarm, trying to remember her lines as the pythons of muscle within her continued to constricted the air out of her.
flap your stained glass wings in my direction, leave me breathless by your beauty, lay upon my heart like the flowers you love so much. bless me, oh butterfly.
As they were moving out of the barn, a large black butterfly with red parts on its tail lit on Jensen’s shoulder. Jensen thought that it was eerie and stopped, but did nothing to brush the butterfly away. The line of people stopped which caused the Ninja commander to turn around and say, “What’s the hold up?”
“butterfly fly away”-Miley Cyrus. All I want to do is cry, but he just says good night, I love you. And this song pops in my head. All I want to do is cry.
The butterfly alighted on top of the flower. I crept forward slowly. I held the net in my hand, grasping tightly and concentrating as I moved ahead. The butterfly, seeming to sense my presence, twitched slightly and at the last moment, flew away.
Butterflies. They always like to land on noses, don’t they? Or at least, they always appear to in movies. I’ve encountered thousands of butterflies, mostly just in passing but a few scarce times when visiting gardens especially for them. However, I have absolutely never had one land on my nose. Clearly this needs to be fixed.
The soft smile on her face, the fluttering of eyelids too heavy to lift and the brilliance of color that shows in her pale features.
Like a butterfly.
I see her and I see strength. I see the soul inside who drew on everything she had and all that she was to bring her through life to this point. I see her now, as the sun is fading away as the time is coming.
the butterfly flitted past her window as she looked out over the meadow that surrounded her tower. This place was beautiful and dreadful at the same time. With a shallow sigh and a slightly hollow laugh, the blond girl turned away from the singular window in her tower, and tugging on her hair to make it follow her easily, walked back towards the stairs that led to the higher parts of her tower. Maybe a book would do her good, and get her head from the clouds. She had to stop daydreaming.
This is weird. Not sure why all these words seem to relate to something, but hat in itself is enough to give a person butterflies. So many perfect opportunities, kind of like it’s all meant to be.
It fluttered before it fell, dropping not so gracefully onto the coarse petal. He would like to have pretended it was a landing, rather than a stumble. He would have if he could have. Luckily no one noticed. Or sadly. No one noticed him fall onto the course petal, barely a tumble, hardly a scar, this time.
The butterfly landed on Dewey’s pen; he observed it silently. It was a monarch butterfly, its orange and black wings fluttering innocently. It was so fragile, so classically beautiful, and yet, somehow, so strange. It flitted anywhere it wanted. The world bowed down to the butterfly, because it was just so ‘fragile of a creature’. It was kind of like Harmony, really. Dewey shook the butterfly away, frowning at this thought. He didn’t want anything to do with Harmony anymore. She wasn’t like a butterfly, fragile. She was poison. It was just coincidence that her last name was Monarch.
Her wings looked like those of a butterfly, but she was nothing like the delicate creatures.
She dropped down and kicked the imps right in the face. After gathering all that grist, she comes down next to you. Her robe is yellow and purple, and you can tell she’s her dreamself because of the clouds in her eye.
An old lady once told me, “Butterflies, they are like dream flowers, childhood dreams, which have broken loose from their stalks and escaped into the sunshine. Air and angels.”
It fluttered, wings beating. A small movement, but one that could change all of the world. A single moment, and a miracle happens in one place, but a tragedy in another. A single, small action changes everything. Forever.
Fluttering into the arms of the horizon. You never knew how to quite stay still. So I let you go. I let you go. Though it wasn’t like I had ever caught you to say you were once my own.
She was outside watching nature when she saw a monarch butterfly flying in the breeze and then landing on a flower. What must it be like to be a butterfly, to be free to go wherever you wanted, with no one holding you back?
The little girl donned the sheer butterfly wings, snapping the elastic bands over her shoulders. She sprinted through the house, pink socks skidding on hardwood floors, as her wings carried her through places she couldn’t even imagine.
Two wings, freedom.
Flying without bounds.
Transformation, then beauty.
And perfection.
Never lost in the world,
For the world is created for your standards.
Who could harm you, delicate creature?
For you are the reflection of human desires.
She swore one day she’d spread her wings; she swore one day she would be gone. The swamp suffocated her, hiding her colors among its mud and dirt. She took a deep breath, she closed her eyes, and she flew, flew, flew away. And she never looked back.
I think about Alice in Wonderland…
Singing “little bread and butterflies kiss the tulips…
All in a golden afternoon”
Songs from kindergarten, butterflies on the wing
Fragile fleeting memories
Delicate and beautiful and brave.
The butter flies around the kitchen as the tasty, yellow butterfly tried to catch the flying butter. “Get the toast!”
when i was a little girl there was a butterfly caught on our window screen. in plucking off the butterfly i realized that i actually pulled off its little wings. poor little butterfly i thought. and there began a horrifying habit that no little girl should have. i began to catch butterflies along the way to rip off their little wings – unknowingly, unwittingly, unflinchingly. who knows…
Butterfly kisses on my face. A warm summer’s day. Bright colors. Sunshine on my skin. Feeling comfort. Mother’s love.
Recovery. You morph from a cocooned and suppressed state into something limitless and beautiful. It’s freedom with flight; mesmerizing beauty.
I love butterflies!! I like to call them flutterflies whenever I like a guy. I’ve got flutterflies in my stomach, and it’s all because of him.
What a beautiful flight that one butterfly has. It has such a short time in which to spread it’s wings and enjoy all that life has to offer. What brilliance but at what a mighty cost.
the beautiful red butterfly landed on the ASTROTURF
What he did to you was wrong, like when a caterpillar doesn’t become a butterfly. Unnatural and heartbreaking.
If only I could go through the same metamorphic transformation. Perhaps one day I shall cocoon from this hideous monster into a beautiful butterfly.
It didn’t take long for the butterfly to fly into Donny’s mouth. Standing there propped up against the tree, with nothing but an eternity to close, Donny watched as the tiny insect grew closer and closer, till finally it perched itself upon his tongue.
Butterfly. You’re so gentle like one. WE were like a butterfly. Symmetrical, in every way. We were one, two peas in a pod. Something more than what we call, reality. I swear, in that moment we were infinite. Like a butterfly. We’re all such delicate humans, waiting….
I’m a butterfly swimmer.
I’m also a take-no-prisoners, bear-no-injuries, justice-to-the-wall type swimmer.
I’m the kind of swimmer your mother warned you about – the one who takes pride in being able to drown you and save you all at the same time.
I’m the kind of swimmer you fear behind the blocks, because I look like I could rip you to pieces when I smile.
I’m a butterflier.
Better fly away.
a butterfly lands on a tree, its wings fluttering softly in the wind.
butterflies represent change. i wish i could do that, go from an ugly caterpillar to a beautiful butterfly. if only i could hibernate a while and suddenly come out a totally different person.
Something we can all gain inspiration from. A little caterpillar stays in its cocoon until you lose hope it will ever come out. But when it finally does, it is a beautiful creature. Everyone has a butterfly in them inside.
I wish I could paint the sea of my breath with wings so that its waves might soar instead of crash. I wish that the color of my teeth was not so beautiful in the night that it left flecks of illumination on the minds of fluttering-through-life butterflies. This isn’t a smile, ladies and gentlemen, this is the coming of something swift and magestic.
The butterfly floated, not touching the ground. It fluttered it’s wings, not making a sound. So fragile and soft, its beauty so still. Free of the world and free of its will. But touch it you may, for who could resist, the gentleness of the butterfly’s kiss. But then it would stop, and fall to the ground. And no one would weep for it made no sound.
She had never understood why this particular nauseous feeling was described as “a stomach full of butterflies”. There was nothing remotely pretty or graceful about the sensation that her intestines were slowly winding themselves around her other organs, squeezing tighter with each passing panicked moment. She ascended the stage steps with mounting alarm, trying to remember her lines as the pythons of muscle within her continued to constricted the air out of her.
flap your stained glass wings in my direction, leave me breathless by your beauty, lay upon my heart like the flowers you love so much. bless me, oh butterfly.
As they were moving out of the barn, a large black butterfly with red parts on its tail lit on Jensen’s shoulder. Jensen thought that it was eerie and stopped, but did nothing to brush the butterfly away. The line of people stopped which caused the Ninja commander to turn around and say, “What’s the hold up?”
The butterfly flies oh so soft. It flickers through the air. Like a knife through butter it flows. So elegant, yet so strong at the same time.
“butterfly fly away”-Miley Cyrus. All I want to do is cry, but he just says good night, I love you. And this song pops in my head. All I want to do is cry.
The butterfly alighted on top of the flower. I crept forward slowly. I held the net in my hand, grasping tightly and concentrating as I moved ahead. The butterfly, seeming to sense my presence, twitched slightly and at the last moment, flew away.
jealous of the butterfly
who shows its colors
and flies away from this world
Butterflies. They always like to land on noses, don’t they? Or at least, they always appear to in movies. I’ve encountered thousands of butterflies, mostly just in passing but a few scarce times when visiting gardens especially for them. However, I have absolutely never had one land on my nose. Clearly this needs to be fixed.
Like a butterfly.
The soft smile on her face, the fluttering of eyelids too heavy to lift and the brilliance of color that shows in her pale features.
Like a butterfly.
I see her and I see strength. I see the soul inside who drew on everything she had and all that she was to bring her through life to this point. I see her now, as the sun is fading away as the time is coming.
I see her smile and laugh–like a butterfly.
She is beautiful and fragile, but I love her.
“Mother…”
The wing of a butterfly is made of thousands of microscopic scales, as fine as powder and as delicate as a spiderweb to human touch.
the butterfly flitted past her window as she looked out over the meadow that surrounded her tower. This place was beautiful and dreadful at the same time. With a shallow sigh and a slightly hollow laugh, the blond girl turned away from the singular window in her tower, and tugging on her hair to make it follow her easily, walked back towards the stairs that led to the higher parts of her tower. Maybe a book would do her good, and get her head from the clouds. She had to stop daydreaming.
This is weird. Not sure why all these words seem to relate to something, but hat in itself is enough to give a person butterflies. So many perfect opportunities, kind of like it’s all meant to be.
It fluttered before it fell, dropping not so gracefully onto the coarse petal. He would like to have pretended it was a landing, rather than a stumble. He would have if he could have. Luckily no one noticed. Or sadly. No one noticed him fall onto the course petal, barely a tumble, hardly a scar, this time.
The butterfly landed on Dewey’s pen; he observed it silently. It was a monarch butterfly, its orange and black wings fluttering innocently. It was so fragile, so classically beautiful, and yet, somehow, so strange. It flitted anywhere it wanted. The world bowed down to the butterfly, because it was just so ‘fragile of a creature’. It was kind of like Harmony, really. Dewey shook the butterfly away, frowning at this thought. He didn’t want anything to do with Harmony anymore. She wasn’t like a butterfly, fragile. She was poison. It was just coincidence that her last name was Monarch.
Her wings looked like those of a butterfly, but she was nothing like the delicate creatures.
She dropped down and kicked the imps right in the face. After gathering all that grist, she comes down next to you. Her robe is yellow and purple, and you can tell she’s her dreamself because of the clouds in her eye.
An old lady once told me, “Butterflies, they are like dream flowers, childhood dreams, which have broken loose from their stalks and escaped into the sunshine. Air and angels.”
It fluttered, wings beating. A small movement, but one that could change all of the world. A single moment, and a miracle happens in one place, but a tragedy in another. A single, small action changes everything. Forever.
Fluttering into the arms of the horizon. You never knew how to quite stay still. So I let you go. I let you go. Though it wasn’t like I had ever caught you to say you were once my own.
Feeling caged
Tightly wound
Breaking free
Lighter than air
Breathless
Colorful
Free
No one but I
Sweet
Butterfly
She was outside watching nature when she saw a monarch butterfly flying in the breeze and then landing on a flower. What must it be like to be a butterfly, to be free to go wherever you wanted, with no one holding you back?