The Memory of Butterflies

by Grace Greene

No action is without consequence, especially unintended consequences.

I had sown these seeds. These lies. I’d kept them watered and fertilized and pruned because I wanted to avoid an ugly, distorted reaping.

Some things were simply what they were. Some gifts must simply be accepted.

Sometimes our choices influenced our destiny.

Sometimes fate stepped in and made those choices moot.

If you’re living, then mistakes are guaranteed. It makes the successes all the sweeter.

but you have to know when and how to let others help you.”

Life will find a way.

I thought that meant life goes on and that whatever that basic, primal driver of life was, it won. Every time. It would push through and remind you, often with cruel strokes, that any pretense of human control was an illusion.

“Youth. It’s prone to getting hurt, but it’s also good for healing.”

Nothing lasted forever.

Sooner or later, my choices would yield results that couldn’t be hidden or ignored, and my position would become untenable.

That sometimes there are no rules for life.”

Because that’s what life was—a series of changes, some painful but sometimes garnering greater beauty despite the pain.

It was three. All three. All different, yet inextricably entwined. Beautiful, but never complete, never perfect. Never truly finished.

“I’m not saying that what you did was right, but if I ever have a child who needs someone to love and protect them, and it can’t be me, then you’re my first choice.”