I guess I was young,
and I gave my heart away.
A butterfly it must have been with, because I find the vicissitudes similar to fluttering.
I think I hid it under his wings.
Safe, camouflaged.
No wonder you'll find, you can't break me.
You ain't that butterfly.
And if I loved anyone of you, during this past time,
it was done without heart.
I never gave my all
Because I couldn't.
You ain't that butterfly.

But I got immune to lack of heart.
And I forgot butterfly.
I can't remember the pattern of his wings.
Then, once in a blue moon, it flutters back.
It must be the direction of the wind, or the forces of the earth.

I see colourful wings, and I see my heart underneath.
I could have taken it back,
But I'll leave it there.
This is not forsaking.
This is loving.













go on and on.