Fly fly away my butterfly...

I like flowers, whether they are in red, purple, or pink is also good for me. Flowers, colorful candies, chocolates, and clouds are the nicest things in world. I also like butterflies, they are pretty, I wish I can fly just like them. Sometimes, at the midday, the sky doesn’t colored blue, because of the sun, and I don’t like it that way. The sky supposed to be blue, right? Just like the ocean, just like the color of the mountain high from a far far away land. When the sun is too bright, I can’t see the clouds, I can’t reach them either. Birds, butterflies, and even your eyes will be sick of it, I miss the clouds, show me the clouds. Please, don’t be as white as my clouds, oh you blue sky..

Butterflies look even better. First of all, of course because they have wings and they can fly, and their colors are amazing. But besides their wings, they have their beautiful life cycle. No matter how pretty they are right now, they will always become prettier. From an ordinary egg to a lovely cocoon, and then….there you go, fly fly away, my dearly butterfly..

When the sun is cooler and let the clouds show up, my butterfly will lead her way and meet the clouds. I will see her from down here, see her smile, see her from miles. They must be a couple God forgets to unify. My butterfly go dancing, crying, and swimming into the clouds. From here, I look at them as the most wonderful view for my entire life.

Hey, don’t you see them up above there? There’s the cloud looks like a butterfly, that is the left wing, flapping like she wants to fly higher, and that is the right wing, keep moving and moving on. On the west side of the sky, there’s the cloud similar to your face, you have a sweet face, a very sweet one, and I like it. You smell like chocolate candies, and your hair is as soft as my favorite type of flower. But then…without any preparations, your face turns into dark scary owl, your eyes bug out like you’re saying something bad in front of my deepest heart, and you looked old. It’s too bad, because you looked very old. What happened? Is it the wind? Or maybe the sky? Please, please, my butterfly, don’t change my cloud, let it shaped like a sweet sweet face, and let it stay on my narrow sight.