Muse 127: the masked butterfly

 butterflies part II

I leaned down to cradle the butterfly in my hands, before I noticed it's crafty body. The center of it was nothing like its wings, the most beautiful part. In fact it was fuzzy, covered in little spikes that mirrored it's caterpillar form. Its eyes were small and invisible, black piercings while the rest of the body was section like two rotten sausages. Completely horrified by how it looked up close, I got up, dusted my hands, crushing the butterfly into the sand as I walked away.

Muse 28: of God

art by erica altosaar

She had asked, once, long time ago, "Did you know that beauty could be separated from the beautiful?."

....

He put her arms over his shoulder, and she rested like a babe swaddled by its mother. With a rough bump, her body jumped up until her buttocks rested gently in the crooks of his arms. Then he proceeded to carry her still-warm form over the fields, where the tall grass brushed against her pale, blueing legs. His hands caressed what it could as the body slowly grew cold, and the colder it got, the more he found himself trying to run home. To save her before she froze, to save her before she was completely gone - the blood ran freely from her wound, like the fragrance of a flower slowly separating away, like the silence growing louder with sound, like humans living on the outskirts of humanity.

Muse 21: Beautiful

found via fffound

She was never beautiful, honey, she never was. Your mother was never beautiful but I fell in love with her anyway. Her mismatched socks and antique sense of style. Her dead locks of hair that had curls running wild. The way she smiled when the sun beamed on her face. The way she smiles - and when I looked, so clearly for the first time - that her clashing colors with the uncommonly striped sweater locked so perfectly in tune with mine. I make her beautiful, honey, and I am the only one that ever will. That is why we are perfect for each other still.