If only they knew how jealous I was. If only they could see me through a time less traveled. I was a mere caterpillar; they magnificent butterflies. Soaring up high, exploring the skies, seeking things unsought. While I, ugly, fat and indecently crawling. Destined to stay rooted with the Earth, degraded to a mere being of disgust. They: flying, flying, merrily, from this flower to that, traversing this air current to there, imbibing sweet nectar, nectar which my preliminary digestive system couldn’t even digest. I was reduced to eat and chew tasteless green leaves, forever chewing, chewing, rolling each piece down. They: metamorphosis complete, creatures of beauty, creatures sought by every soul. I: denied my chance to even wrap my cocoon, and every time I did manage to do so, it was sabotaged. Sometimes, a mere rip, like a mild attack at a self esteem, quick to heal, forever scarred. Other times: the cocoon destroyed completely, like a shattered self of shards of glass, almost never healing, a self that does not believe in itself anymore. It always occurred to me: I call these people my friends, I stood by them in their metamorphosis, and they? Am I to dry out as a caterpillar? Am I not to fulfill my destiny? Or is this my destiny, and I should resign to it? Have I been fated to never reach the epitome of desire, and inner beauty? Would I die as is, and they be the embodiment of every ounce of my desires?
*this piece of writing claims no scientific accuracy.
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