they watched as the steady rhythm faded away. slower and slower until its shadow disappeared. and then the butterfly rested, perched on its deep blue iris. 1…2…4 seconds passed between each movement.
“daddy, what’s it doing?”
“it’s dying, baby. it’s dying…”
“…daddy? is dying contagious?”
Recovered from Xanga 
who taught you to write like this? twasn’t me
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they say that accepting one’s own mortality is growing up. but you know that better than i do
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you are the greatest, Sandy Phamy.
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hey sandy pham! it’s rebecca yang! thanks for visiting me yesterday, it was cool to finally meet u!
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hey sandy! thanks for leaving a comment on my xanga. hope ur having a good weekend
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