I do not remember when my fascination began, it seems as though I was always enthralled by the smooth curves and vivid colors of butterfly wings. Their wings bear resemblance the first letter of my name 'B' so the same is familiar and friendly. Gently they glide in the air--bright spots of color on fields of green or skies of blue. The lines, curves, dots, and colors of butterfly wings mimic flowers and eyes in an attempt hide. Gently, beautifully, and delicately the hide, but always fail to stay hidden. Watching, I covet their elegance.
I try to claim butterflies by plastering my car and letters with stickers of these winged creatures. My friends even call me a social butterfly and tease, "If Brittney ever got a tattoo, it would be of a butterfly." But I cannot claim them, they are mysterious and free. They are beautiful, but their beauty is fleeting--they are frail and fall like autumn leaves when chilled wind kisses their wings.
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