I Am The Butterfly or Lupus Taught Me To Fly

The four-footed one was chasing butterflies today.  As they crossed her line of vision she’d jump up and try to catch them, thankfully failing each time because for her to catch one would put an end to the flight of those butterflies.  Butterflies are surprisingly hardy creatures, however I’m not sure they’d be able to survive the sharp teeth of the four-footed one.

I have a soft spot for butterflies, they are symbols for lupus after all.  As delicate as those wings are, as fragile as they appear, butterflies can travel long distances in all sorts of winds and rain.  Butterflies are warriors, making their way to where they need to go while dodging birds, bad weather and curious dogs.  And let’s not forget the people who capture them in nets to add to collections.

In some regards having lupus is a bit like being a butterfly, minus being able to fly of course.  I can appear or even be surprisingly frail and yet still I fight on to a better life or maybe a cure.  Some days just carrying out daily tasks seems like a journey of a million miles.  Other days it’s possible that the wind and conditions are just right for an easy flight, but I can never let my guard down.

Lupus is crafty one, like a patient  person and a butterfly net, lupus waits until I flit into her view.  She times her sweep of net just so.  The movement, a blur out of the corner of my eye is sometimes enough of a warning to get my wings moving faster.  Sometimes I escape the net and enjoy clear days of flight ahead.  Other days she is faster, my wings tired from fighting the winds and she captures me in a clear jar, known as a flare.  When this happens I must wit for someone to unscrew the jar and set me free from the flare again.

So yes dear friends I was very happy that my four-footed companion wasn’t successful in any of her attempts at capturing s butterfly.  For I am the butterfly.

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