I like a red admiral.

I read about it first on an aged poster in a cabin on the coast. Endless butterflies I hadn’t seen.

I only knew dependable cabbage butterflies.

No complexities.

I thought I was somewhere else.

With crashing waves, black sand and routes my uncle told me not to walk on.

I liked how it sounded. Commanding. Assured. Black and gold and red.

I remember the day I learned they were divorcing. My mum told me she could be ‘hard to love.’

That was something I never wanted to be.

I don’t see butterflies now. I see black and white.

For the most part.