A tiny butterfly flutters by

Some of our constant readers know my long-time heterosexual life-mate and fiancee januarygirl. After our parting of ways last fall, my heart retreated to the furtherst corner it could and whimpered like a beaten dog. Like an orange furry caterpillar fat with pain, it wrapped itself in a tight hard shell for the winter, and didn't move. Ice covered over it thick and crusted with debris. For months. And then, and then, and then, my dears, and then it was done. The tiny flame of hope flickered out, and in the spring with the rains and the warming weather, after the equinox, the heart ate itself. It devoured everything it had once believed and known and suspected and begrudged, and then. And then, and then, and then, my dears, then it was new. The old foul drippings slowly evaporated in the sunshine growing stronger every day. The butterfly spread its wings and, flexing, waited for the flowers to bloom, flexing and growing stronger every day, and ready for a new beginning, when the flowers bloomed. And then... and then. Thanks and welcome, good riddance put paid, good evening and welcome night, and dreams, and waking. Ready, finally; ready, finally; ready, finally, ready ready ready.

(Acknowledgements to e. e. cummings, you punctuational bastard. ;p Also I stole your shit Panopticon so I owe you.)