The magical feeling of flying through the forest of pink and blue warmed her. The forest allowed the sunlight to sneak past its blue leaves, making a pink treat for her eyes. She was particularly drawn to one tree hidden in the dense regions. The sun rays reaching him looked like red honey to her eyes. She had to fly a mile to greet her favourite tree, and it was worth every sweat. She found the tree beautiful, which would shame other trees. Its leaves were dipped in the sweetest blue, and every branch could support her weight. The other butterflies that wandered playfully loved to charm trees and leave them broken. To her dismay, her pretty tree was no exception. They fluttered close but never close enough to the tree. They made him want their presence more than his own. They came and went and left it long. The tree never seemed to understand that it was all just interest, which it naively believed was love. It had a kind soul, which made her melt and saddened. She always sat on his branches and hid away in the blue leaves. Her blue wings got lost in the midst, and the tree never noticed her presence.
The playful butterfly came and went with the spring, leaving the tree alone in the nakedness of winter. When it shed its pretty leaves and allowed his branches to breathe, all he believed was love had left. The red honey became light pink, and the blue leaves covered the ground. The dark bark was the only colour it had. But the tree, like before, failed to notice her playing with the flowers on the ground near its bark. She loved this forest and the tree even more, so she stayed as winter set. She found warmth in the fallen leaves, which matched her wings. It was too cold to fly and sit on the branches, so she stayed on the ground. She heard the tales from the leaves of the tree’s pain and felt sad. Some summers ago, she learned she would always be lost in its blue leaves, but she had hoped for its happiness.
As the winter became darker, she felt alone and cold. The leaves became dry and vain to keep her warm. Her shivering wings looked for warmth, but none could be found. She missed fluttering in the sky across this groove and seeing the light reflect from her wings. She even missed those playful butterflies who told her stories of their conquest and jars of broken hearts. In the colourless, dark winter, the blue butterfly lay still in her dreams of blue and pink. When all the colours had left, the tree saw her blue wings, glimmering in the sunlight. He hoped that he had leaves to cover the cold butterfly with. But the branches were empty. When the butterflies came again with the spring, the tree felt something missing, like a lost weight on its branches. He felt sad without reason and remembered the blue butterfly. It looked for blue wings in the kaleidoscope of butterflies but was as successful as she had looked for warmth.
Writer's Note- Oh, to be a butterfly in love with a tree.
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