I just wait.

In my fantasy, I have a butterfly. As it flutters, grains of light shed from its wings and add to the brightness of my horizons, but do nothing to the darkness of my sky.

The sky remains perennially dark. Occasionally lightened up when the silver clouds above throw sparks of greetings to the grains of light at the horizon, the sky remains, dark.

The butterfly flutters and flies, settling here for a moment, hovering there the next. The winds tremble to the beatings of the wings and shake the walls of my world. But the butterfly goes on, oblivious to the tremors its causing, the butterfly continues to hop and fly.

I stand in a dark corner, and wait. I feel the powdery light falling and slipping over my closed eye-lids. And as I open them, the soft brightness of the horizons entice me and capture my attention. But then, the butterfly... the butterfly.

It captures my senses and my imagination, enveloping me in a mist of soft brightness. I follow it around, even with my eyes closed, and my ears full of music, and my mind in a whirlwind of emotions, I can sense it, I can feel it, I keep running behind the fluttering wings of light... never getting nearer, but never falling behind, I go on running.

I am out of breath now. I stop, I wait, I breathe, I look up. The butterfly hovers above me for an instant. I turn my face up and close my eyes. I feel the particles of light falling and slipping over my closed eyelids, and I sense the butterfly flutter away, not caring whether I follow or not. I stop.

I turn around, look at the horizon, look at the sky, and the streaks of lightning. And over the distance, I still see the butterfly, fluttering, flying, settling for an instant and flying again. I don't try to follow the butterfly anymore.