Being A Butterfly

I sit there on the same cold floor that has been chilling my feet, sending shivers through my entire body for almost 5 years now. Boxes tower around me. The masking tape in my hand feels unusualy heavy. Out with the old in with the new. I’m on my way. Within a week, all my old possesions have been sold or donated and the new comes in. I am going to train. Crossbows, swords, various eastern wepons, a boxing bag, other wepons, and a new set of knives roll in and find a place in my condo, and my heart. Especially the knives. I pick up a long skinny gutter but quickly put it down when my eyes rest upon a gold and silver butterfly knife. Beautiful. I have always loved butterflys, even as a child. I have a butterlfy collection. At first I was sad to see such a beautiful creature trapped to a peice of cardboard. Lifeless but yet so ravishing. Lovely. Then it occured to me, I came up with being strong, that seemed like a great plan a week ago. What after that though. After I kill them, what happens. I sigh and smile.

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