Sometimes the walls we build up around our souls are made of stones, as hard as diamonds, and other times, the stones are porous and soft, like sponges, soaking up the tears of sorrow and anguish, and yet even other times, the walls are not walls, but deep, dark chasms and the stones are butterflies, fluttering in the gale force winds. We hope upon hope that one day, a lightning bug will come along to guide the way, and an optimistic butterfly will delve deep into the chasm, guided by the light and the comfort of friendship, to find the meaning of it all, all of the suffering, all of the pain, all of the emptiness inside. It is only then that the sacrifice of the butterfly will be illuminated, in the blackness of the cold chasm of life, when the lightning bug is no more, and the emptiness swallows the butterly. Will his soul be reborn? Will his cocoon be one more stone in the wall around your heart? Is it all in vain? When will I eat?
-Deep thoughts, from Luna.
Canon PowerShot G10, f4.0, 1/30
She needs to stop eating before she goes to bed. Its giving her bad dreams . . .
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