Going about her day, she flies along unaware. Unaware that her carelessness may harm her. The butterfly drifts low, only to be abruptly stopped by a web. She lies caught, tangled, holding on for her life. The black spider draws near, waiting to envelope her. But something comes down from the heavens. It blocks the sun, brushes away the spider with little effort. Delicately she is pried from the web, damaged but not broken. She flutters weakly into a glass jar. With time, she heals. But she does not forget the deed of her savior, for every spring she graces his garden with her beauty.

So far this year, every fucking holiday/important day has been ruined. And by who? ME.

“Forget regret, or life is yours to miss.”

^^…I used to live by that. Now I find that if one doesn’t regret, you loose everything you live for.

I don’t know how I can poetically recount my amazing weekend so I’ll just write it up like a journal entry.

So on Saturday I had a sleepover for my birthday(which is today), and it was fucking amazing. It was supposed to be a horror fest but it quickly turned into so much more. We (being me, Anne, Rachael, Sarah, Marie and Charlie) got through the first SAW movie then broke out the Twister board. Which quickly turned into Extreme aka Awesome Twister. Did that for about three hours, ate then sat down to watch Hannibal. That however didn’t work as my dear friends quickly turned on me and decided to tickle the shit out of me. I literally couldn’t breathe. Once I finally escaped we decided to de-pants people, the first being me of course. That lead to removal of other clothes and pole dancing. Whoo! Hm…lets see. Charlie left us to go to work (that loser) so we kinda chill for a bit, talked about boys and whatnot. Then we watched Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Beginning…which is where my new saying “that boy’s tarded” comes from. After that we weren’t exactly freaked out so we called people. The first being Charlie to tell him he left his phone at my house. Next was James who is in New Orleans…he was kinda boring. Then Nate…which was a disaster all in itself. He’s never getting forgiven for that. Then Andy who I really wished was there…especially for Twister. From there it was a series of junk food eating, movies and the occasional sleep. Oh and apparently I snore. What’s up with that…hmm.

So as you can see, I had the best weekend ever. I love my friends, they’re amazing…where would I be without you guys? <3

The heart flutters as if it was a butterfly, each beat faster and stronger, sending it higher and higher into euphoria.

This little itch of mine
A feeling in my brain
Digging itself deeper
Crawling slowly, discovering secrets
Surfacing, seeing light
It makes my stomach churn
I turn my mind off, ignore it
Scratching the itch only makes it worse
But I cannot control my subconscious
Its eating its way further in
Tearing out the memories
This little itch of mine

I haven’t written anything for my novel in quite sometime. Anything significant anyways.

Yesterday my French class, the second semester art class and the philosophy class went to the MFA. D’abord, ma classe française est allée à l’exposition de mode. Il était grand! Alors nous sommes passés par le reste du museum. Quel grand voyage de champ!

Alright, that’s my daily dose of French. Many of the art pieces were the same and there was some new stuff. Very abstract. But for some reason I’m always drawn to the religious art. I don’t quite understand why, because I’m not a particularly religious person. It just captivates me, especially the Crucification paintings. You see the hurt in Jesus’ eyes, you can feel the pain of the nails. One small painting caught my eye, however. It was a depiction of Mary and Joseph playing with the infant Jesus in their home. No nativity scene, no halos. Just a happy family. The simplicity of it was almost frightening.

After we got back I went over Andy’s and we watched Stranger Than Fiction. What a great movie even if it did leave me incredibly depressed. Makes me realize how one action can affect the rest of your life; how you need to live out your dreams unless it is an unfulfilled life you plan to lead.

I feel like I should write more but I can’t. My muse doesn’t seem to be with me today.

It is every caterpillar’s dream to one day become a beautiful butterfly. One would spend his or her days eating, fattening up for the long sleep. Fleur was regarded as one of the most beautiful caterpillars and everyone had high expectations for her. Her white body was well complimented by an array of greens and yellows. Her feet were perfectly shaped so that she may never fall off a twig. She only ate the finest of leaves; they were always rich and deep as emeralds. No human would dare touch her for her beauty was of another realm and most predator’s thought it a sin. One day, she began to feel tired and her sides bulged in all the right places. It was time. The other, lesser caterpillars watched her spin her cocoon. The shell was even beautiful. Not the ordinary tan, but a luminous yellow accented with blue flecks. The others watched, the numbers soon declining as they too cocooned. A month passed as spring made way for summer. The air became heavier and the bright sun warmed the cocoons. As if willed by God, they emerged all at once. The hard cocoons were breaking under the power of the butterflies. They came forth from their prison all colors of the rainbow. They fluttered around her cocoon, waiting patiently. The protective shell began to crack and a leg emerged, then a head. Fleur came out and stretched her wings. The others flew back, astonished. Not however, at her beauty. Her body was not the satin black desired but a muddy brown. Her wings were not spectacular, a simple brown pattern. A few dark yellow spots highlighted the tips. There she was, a great disappointment. They left her to her fate. She roamed the fields day in and day out. Neither predator nor mate alike saw her as appealing. Fleur was coming to the end of her days, after all no butterfly lived a particularly long life. She rested on a long stem of grass, her body old and tired.

When she came to, a human hand was reaching for her. Lazily, she looked into his inquisitive eyes. He placed her in a clear jar, holes poked into a lid. The man gazed at her with such wonder and awe. He smiled at the creature, happy in his findings. For she was not ugly, but a rare species. To the ordinary eye she would be an ugly insect. To the man, the artist, the photographer she was beautiful. Unique among the ordinary. She died that night in a peaceful slumber and he pinned her to a frame. She hung in the center, between the monarch and swallowtail where she belonged, for alas beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

Cold, dismal day. Little emotion, no soul. The snow begins to fall, clean and white. Quickly it turns to dark, dirty rain. The good turns to bad. But from a tormented sky the sun peaks out, looking for a place. Struggling to show herself. Afraid to do her job, afraid to follow her destiny. But she emerges warm and large. She brings hope. She gives life. She gives what she has found.