Butterflies
May 31, 2020
They don’t flutter in my stomach. Instead, these butterflies are landing all over my body. Up and down my arms and legs, I can feel the hairs on my neck standing straight up. I don’t know how to describe the feeling. My heartbeat is speeding up, and I can’t seem to calm down at all. Every single step forward is pushed against, fought against with vigor.
My breath is shaking. Each molecule of oxygen pumping into my lungs is providing little relief. What exactly is causing these butterflies, I wonder? Is it my brain, letting the fears I have run wild? Is it my genetics, my DNA, which I have no control over?
I don’t know. The butterflies are feather-light, sending a lightning-fast shiver down my arms. Trying to warn myself up seems counterproductive, because the butterflies have made my hands cold. My father used to say that I was like Killer Frost because of how cold my hands were sometimes. I used to laugh at him because I didn’t think my hands were that cold. Now, I can see it. The butterflies are making me feel so nervous now.
So afraid of the future. So afraid they will never go away completely.
Afraid of the worst.
They don’t flutter in my stomach. Instead, these butterflies are landing all over my body. Up and down my arms and legs, I can feel the hairs on my neck standing straight up. I don’t know how to describe the feeling. My heartbeat is speeding up, and I can’t seem to calm down at all. Every single step forward is pushed against, fought against with vigor.
My breath is shaking. Each molecule of oxygen pumping into my lungs is providing little relief. What exactly is causing these butterflies, I wonder? Is it my brain, letting the fears I have run wild? Is it my genetics, my DNA, which I have no control over?
I don’t know. The butterflies are feather-light, sending a lightning-fast shiver down my arms. Trying to warn myself up seems counterproductive, because the butterflies have made my hands cold. My father used to say that I was like Killer Frost because of how cold my hands were sometimes. I used to laugh at him because I didn’t think my hands were that cold. Now, I can see it. The butterflies are making me feel so nervous now.
So afraid of the future. So afraid they will never go away completely.
Afraid of the worst.
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