The Strange Dreams of an Imago

The wind lifted and suddenly a butterfly woke up from a deep slumber for the first time

“What a very strange dream, it thought to itself”

This is not the first strange dream that the butterfly remembers of

What were those other dreams where it was slow and small? wondered the butterfly

“Which is more real, the fragile reality of the larva or the safety of the chrysalis?”

The wind lifted a chilling winter breeze while the sun emanated some warm light

The butterfly glanced from the window now filled with more questions than ever

“Why am I so enticed to go outside?” it thought to itself

“Which is more real, the world of yesterday or the changes of today?” wondered the butterfly

The wind lifted once more and with it, the butterfly spread it wings

“What very strange limbs,” ¬†it thought to itself

“Which is more real, the grounded reality it had been used to or its newfound wings capable of challenging that reality itself?”

While it basked in the warmth of the sun and its wing felt the freedom of the wind,

a sudden realization dawned upon the butterfly

The butterfly now knew what it was meant to be and what it wanted to do

With it, the butterfly flew. Gone like the wind…

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