Lovely, fragile things.

Lovely, fragile things. 

We wonder what they are and how they came to be. 

As I lay in my bed cocooned in blanket, I look up at the starry ceiling and wonder how it is exactly that caterpillars can possess the patience to do this sort of thing.  They swaddle themselves in love or sorrow and curl up within themselves and drift off into a mysterious and beautiful slumber.  They emerge not only fully rested and refreshed but as an entirely different entity altogether, ready to take on the world regardless of how heartbroken their former lives may or may not have altered or diminished them.  

I'm not even certain if the memory of their former lives contains them at all now that they have sprouted wings.  It's kind of silly to believe that it should.  They are on to bigger and grander things now.  No more sadness, only gladness. 

And on and on my little heart continues to beat, anticipating a miracle in my own metamorphosis. 

via insomniadiary