She wished she was a butterfly.
Free.
And beautiful.
And most importantly, because butterflies don't even finish their journey. They just die.
Whish was kind of what she wanted to do.
Except, she couldn't just die. She didn't want to let go. Not yet, at least.
She also didn't want to break up with her first ever, serious boyfriend.
But, it was a mutual decision, right?
Isn't this what she wanted?
The breakup made her think of butterflies. How free and beautiful they were. How they were always subconsciously admired from afar. How, they never quite got anywhere but always fluttered contently and gracefully. They also made her think of how they never actually mated and just gave birth, really.
She wishes she was a butterfly.
But, she couldn't just get what she wanted.
She couldn't even stay in a relationship.
She really was worthless, wasn't she?
But, she wanted to save her friendship.
Which meant, giving up the only dependable and increasing thing in her life.
But she refused to get sadistic and depressed.
She'd just keep wishing she was a butterfly.