Note For The Butterfly Who Flapped Its Wing

Posted on March 30, 2013

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I might have misread you. I do have problem in reading you. Sometimes I think it is impossible to know what you actually mean, what we actually mean; for human’s minds and emotions are very complex, for people are different and have different intentions, for it was one of those casual encounters but I take you all the way to my heart, and our use of languages places us in a same dead-end as the reading of rhetoric. I know that the word “love” is an established term, but who does not redefine it?

I might have misread you; for I overrate our encounter, for I am being naive. I know, there is no ideal world, no ideal of something, and when one is trying to create one, everything starts to go wrong. In short, I am afraid.

I might have misread you; for I think of you, for I think you know in what way I want you, pure as that.

I might have misread you. Maybe it is not what you mean, maybe it is not what you want. Maybe what you want is not like what I want. Maybe I do not know what I want. Maybe it is no great matter for you (for you just want to let the animal out on the grass, simple as that), but I am pinned. We can let the animal out, all the time, for life is short, but how is it when the day is end?

I might have misread you. For I left you with your gun loaded, I wish you could shoot it in me.

Posted in: Journal, notes, Writing