Betterfly

I was wandering through the forest in the heart of spring. Deep among the trees, the air buzzed with the hum of bees, their presence hinting that the butterfly was near. The scent of blooming flowers surrounded me, guiding me further toward a small village tucked within the woods. Thirsty, I approached a humble hut and, raising my voice gently, asked for water. An elderly woman appeared with a glass in hand. I drank, returned the glass, and she quickly disappeared inside. As I continued on my path, I was struck by the sound of a young girl laughing loudly—but it was no ordinary laughter. Beneath the joy was a strange mix of sadness and helplessness. The sound grew clearer and closer, until I saw her running past me, tears streaming down her face even as laughter danced on her lips. She seemed like a little angel, perhaps lost or in need, yet carrying a weight no one should bear. My heart wondered if angels cry; my mind insisted they do not. And in that moment, I understood her laughter...