Shaking hands hold the gifts,

Tiny clumps of papery bits.

Others would not see the magic,

But when she holds them she’s ecstatic.

For in her palms lie gorgeous things,

Delicate pieces of trust built into wings.

She treasures them in her blazer pocket,

And plans to hide them in a locket.

The world may not understand her joy,

In holding paper butterflies, just a toy,

But whether gifted a butterfly or fairy,

She’ll always find beauty in the ordinary.

And she knows in years to come,

When the friendship is feared to be done,

She can hold the butterflies, see photos on her phone,

And know she can never really be alone.

The beauty of the butterflies, she never failed to see,

But her flaw was that she only noticed the beauty.

She tried to always be there, but she failed,

And now she prays her friend can be saved.

For without her friend, there is no such beauty,

No paper toys, just sadness, she’s empty.

But if her friend knew she meant so much more than a paper creature,

She would know that I would never leave her.