What is your identity without someone to love?

Someone to think about.

To talk about.

What is your identity without an illness?

A definite symptoms list that describes everything we do wrong.

Excusing the behavior you don't understand.

If that is true, we might all be infected

Like a butterfly’s wings, they are beautiful in nature.

To the outside world their wings are art.

To them their wings are just legs.

A necessity for survival.

Made to carry the weight of society.

Forced to handle it cleanly.

But the butterfly isn't alone, it has a lover.

The centipede may not have its own wings,

But it will love the butterfly no matter what.

Walk miles for them.

In sand or storms.

Because even if the centipede doesn't have wings to fly,

It still has legs to walk.