Butterflies are strange.
They are, how to explain this, hmmmm. Nimble, light-footed. Simple words can't explain them. Complex sentences can't capture their beauty. They are something you have to see to believe.
And oh he'd seen one.
He'd seen.
Her.
That thick haired boy watched fascinated as a small caterpillar grew into a gorgeous creature. And no matter which way he looked she always found a way to twinkle in the reflection of his deep black glasses. Right before his very eyes.
What a blessing.
But sadly, also a curse.
For watching such a gentle soul grow became his weakness. The young boy started to morph. He started to release that this rush of feelings was like none he'd ever felt.
It'd made him sick and queasy. For you see this boy had a odd way of working. Inside him crawled millions of small bugs eating up zest from the shell of his cells. So when a flood of eagerness, anticipation, enthusiasm, rushed through his blood stream the bugs themselves took on the same state. It rattled his body and sent shivers down his spine.
Oh how he hated it.
The bug inhabited boy loathed having to be the lead-footed, a stone wall that everyone walked pass without the slightest look his way.
But he was willing to take these feelings on. He spent time with the little butterfly. He helped her on her two left feet. He walked side by side with her trying so ever hard to never falter.
He tried.
But no one said he succeeded.
For at the hour of the moon's midnight tea time the thick haired boy found the little butterfly crying. Tears did not suit her.
So he went to her and questioned her reason for showing such weary feelings. And from thin rosé colored lips gushed accident-prone words. Boys with whiskers and orange clad jump suits leaped irksomely into his tried mind.
He twitched. He fidgeted. As sentence after sentence oozed from her mouth he found himself becoming more and more uncomfortable.
The bug boy felt her inching closer.
And closer.
And closer.
Tell he could feel the plum colored fleece of her jacket rubbing against the layers of clothing that covered him.
He turned looking helplessly down at the short girl, even if she couldn't see it through the mask covering his washed out face. He himself strived to make words through shaking lips but found that all that came out was puffs of warm air.
So they bathed in the silence.
And though the thick haired boy didn't know it the small butterfly loved that about him. That he didn't have to fill the empty space with chatter. That the only thing needed to fill the room was himself. His stiff, glacial like body.
Soon the young girl gave out a long yawn, stretching her glass like arms out in front of her.
Slowly and nimble like the graceful little creature she was, she stood up and twirled around to meet the bug boy's dark glasses. Her tongue placed a glossy, unwrinkled thank you in the hands of her dear friend.
His body shook faintly and he could feel his heart race. The tiny insects within him started to bounce against the walls of his lumber frame.
Leisurely the butterfly leaned in and suddenly the queasy feelings melted into untroubled affection.
Words can't describe the beauty of a butterfly.
And those words could never capture the fresh breath of air that it brought with it.
Who wants a whole batch of good ol' sugar coated words =3= I'll take mine with a extra dose of cheesy.
I do not own Naruto or any of the characters.