Nothing can be done.

Butterflies,

gush of blood,

soothing after effect,

almost magical.

What you said, 

was not supposed to happen,

has now 

already happened. 

It had to lead this way,

you knew it,

we knew it,

yet, it bruises me. 

It happened,

and,

Nothing can be done,

about it.

It was something more than this? 

We all want to believe that.

But I have nothing to believe,

nothing to hold on to. 

Perhaps,

I can rely on,

my butterflies,

gush of blood un-felt,

things unspoken,

and my small fancy world,

where reside you and I.