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woman alone (II)

Since childhood he wanted to be a butterfly. He cried when his mother told him that butterflies lived only days. "All will die soon?"

flapping, ran through the yard tossing, seeking at least they remember the bright orange wings, which retained intact dreams of flying. She did not know, but while out girl, death would be a fatal and incurable, but distant. Every day asomarían butterflies to your garden: others, but would not know, then all the butterflies could be the same in their eyes and affection.

Growing up, the butterflies would die or one by one and each item would be irreparable, and the butterflies that arrived could not replace the previous, and each loss is worse, more painful, more cruel and incredibly, despite no longer be children, more incomprehensible.