nighttime

what has become of me? in the light of recent events, what has it (not knowing exactly what "it" is) molded me into?

it's like the silent and careful fluttering of a small butterfly hovering on a lonely flower in the middle of green fields on a hot midday sun. the early morning dew has evaporated from the earth and gives off a solid, pungent smell. quietly, a mirage is forming in the distance as the soil dries up fast. what is the vision? is it a sea? a pond? a lagoon?

yet, the small butterfly, not knowing where else to go, gently settles on the flower and dutifully sucks up its sweet nectar.