Until I Say Goodbye

I should end this now, I started thinking. With dignity, on my own terms.

I thought of suicide about as often as you see a butterfly. It would flutter into my mind, and I would study it, marveling at is symmetry. Then it would flit away, and I would forget, for it was only a passing thing.

Until it returned the next day, and the next. Because my mind was a garden. Tended, cultivated, but unchecked on the edges. A perfect place for butterflies.

Written by: Susan Spencer-Wendel