Butterflies

A butterfly fluttered past the window, as if it was following the bus. It had pure red wings, lined with deepest black. Auvrea placed her hand on the window and the butterfly rested its fragile legs upon the window.

She looked at the butterfly, its wings lightly rested upon the glass, its antennae twitching cautiously. It made Auvrea think, she thought of her life, of the old times and of the more recent times. She thought of the people she loved and cared for that had past to higher graces, the thought of a new love made her stomach flutter. All light and fluffy. "But all men just look at my looks, not at who I am. Its hopeless." She muttered, she had a bad tendency to talk to herself, quite alot.

She stood up, pretending to adjust her clothes and looked at Martin, who sat a row in front of her, let out a light giggle at the thought and sat back down. Twirling her hair in thought.

The End

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