The Flames are Burning the Butterflies

You turn around, and look into Their eyes.

You feel Their hatred, boiling, bubbling.

You turn away quickly, ashamed.

They are too beautiful to be seen by You.

They look down, noticing Your presence.

They walk towards You, glaring, grimacing.

They turn away slowly, disgusted.

You are far too ugly for those perfect eyes.

You back away from Their beautiful eyes,

You turn around, hurting, hating.

You want to leave, desperately.

They are too beautiful to be seen with You.

They face You and take a step forward.

They walk closer, seething, simmering.

They want You to hurt, again.

You are a flea next to a deity.

You start to run.

They easily catch up, and call Your name

You stop, stumbling over Your feet.

They know your name?

They reach for You, showing You Their perfect hand.

You crawl backwards, keeping them away from someone as insignificant as You.

They stop, freed from the insanity that led Them to being willing to touch You.

You take a step towards Them.

You watch for Their reaction...

They don't react.

You start to take another

They shouldn't be touched by You. You turn again, and begin to run.

They run too.

You are not as fast as Them.

They catch up, keeping perfect pace.

You are running out of breath.

You stop, gasping for air.

They stop, and take You into Their arms.

You panic first, but then melt into Their embrace.

They whisper

"I Will Always Love You".