The Old Black Butterfly

Once upon a time, there was a butterfly that was so different from all butterflies. It was the oldest butterfly alive, and other butterflies used contemplate its all black body, red stomach and white horns. It’s because they knew it was different for its colors not for being so old. The black butterfly used to settle in one place on a very huge tree where all kinds of fruits grow. Then, on a very inspiring night, the butterfly tried to track the course of her life since it was born…. And thoughts started to flow…

“Oh my oh my, it has been so long since I came out of this very tense hot cocoon chrysalis. The world around me was just a plain lifeless horizon that it seemed like nothing but me exists. I started working and working and working, and made life for me, built a huge kingdom on this very huge tree. Every creature used to look up to me and be inspired by my astonishing wonderful kingdom. Good God, this is plain history, my great days are now history… this is disappointing. I still remember the bitter days when other butterflies grow larger and seemed like monsters. They wanted to attack me, enslave me and take over my tree. Well, be honest to yourself, old butterfly, and admit it, I thought my great history would fight for me. Yet, it didn’t. But I am still alive, yeah… I am alive… It must be my great history that keeps me alive despite all plots to take me down. Huh, they should know that the old butterfly will never fall… Umm, I will never fall? Then why do I feel death is knocking the gates of my once-mighty kingdom? Will I survive?
My once active mind is now lazy… will I survive? My strong wings go weaker and weaker… will I survive? Mess everywhere on my tree… will I survive? I am ruled by 70-year-old thoughts in a forest that develops every second… will I survive? I am thinking of my history and I am never inspired to revive it… do I know why? I am thinking of a history and never make history… do I know why? Every new youthful part in me dies in infancy… will I survive?.......
Calm down, old butterfly, everything is cool… I will stay alive, I will survive. Butterflies used to live and die around me but I always survive. Then that’s the way it always going to be.”

And the Old Black Butterfly falls asleep, giving up anxious thoughts and falsifying dreams to enjoy the ages it is going to sleep. Dreams never make history, dreams become history… a forgotten history.