Life exists in two forms;

Distortion,

like the winds that frequently alter the course of travel

we desperately attempt to transform ourselves into a butterfly

who can gallivant along the gusts

so casually,

so effortlessly,

we achieve complete metamorphosis and become unrecognizable

as we leave the caterpillars behind

for better, worse, or both

and

biostasis, or stagnation,

like a star fashioned out of the dust,

we float in an endless abyss of darkness like a ghost

who changes shape, grows old and is pulled by invisible forces, but remains the same,

so casually,

so effortlessly,

we are content in our freedom

until the realization sets in

that we're eternally paralyzed

and as they slowly disappear into the rift

the monarchs and the swallowtails,

the spirits and specters,

fading behind the clouds

and floating into the sun together,

they envy each other