Metamorphosis: A Journal of Lovers

:rose: Content Warning :rose:

This journal mentions emotional abuse, non-consent, and toxic relationships. Please read with care, especially if these topics may be triggering for you. While some entries explore healing and self-discovery, others delve into darker, painful memories.

Your well-being matters—take breaks if needed.

🦋 𓂀 ──────── 𓂀 🦋

:rose: Handwritten in black ink, edges of the pages slightly curled, the scent of old paper and faded cologne clinging to the spine. :rose:

🦋 𓂀 ──────── 𓂀 🦋

[October 12, 2019]

Blue Morpho (Morpho menelaus)

You were my first, but not really.

We held hands in the hallway, took pictures for homecoming, kissed once at the movies, but it was all muscle memory—no spark, no fire. Like two actors playing a part neither of us really wanted.

I learned today that you’re a lesbian. Suddenly, everything makes sense. The awkwardness, the distance, the way we both wanted to want each other but never really could.

No wonder we were giving :sparkles: gay :sparkles: .

🦋 𓂀 ──────── 𓂀 🦋

[February 5, 2021]

Monarch (Danaus plexippus)

You were my first real relationship. The first boy I ever loved—if I knew what love even meant back then.

You were gentle, patient, the kind of steady presence I thought I needed. But I was restless, my mind a whirlwind of thoughts and distractions, my hands constantly searching for something to hold onto that wouldn’t slip away.

I think I frustrated you. I think you tired me.

We drifted apart, not in flames but in quiet sighs.

You were the butterfly that always knew when to migrate.

🦋 𓂀 ──────── 𓂀 🦋

[September 30, 2021]

Cinnabar Moth (Tyria jacobaeae)

Bright red wings, warning colors.

You called me princess but never meant it in a good way. Said you liked me best when I looked soft, delicate, something to tame.

I wore skirts to make you happy. Smiled when you told me real men don’t wear rings unless they’re0 married. Let you talk over me until I forgot what my own voice sounded like.

I left before I lost myself completely.

Funny thing about warning colors? Sometimes, they don’t scare people away.

🦋 𓂀 ──────── 𓂀 🦋

[May 18, 2022]

Atlas Moth (Attacus atlas)

Massive wings, brief life span.

You were the first to touch me like I was something to be worshipped, not hidden. The first to make my body feel like it belonged to me.

We burned through each other fast—nights spent tangled in sheets, hands pressed against warm skin, whispered promises that never made it past sunrise.

You taught me what I liked. What I wanted. What I was.

And then you were gone, like all beautiful things that live too brightly, too quickly.

🦋 𓂀 ──────── 𓂀 🦋

[December 4, 2022]

Luna Moth (Actias luna)

A mistake turned into something we pretended wasn’t one.

I woke up with your scent on my skin, your arm draped over me like it belonged there. We never talked about that night—not really.

But then it happened again. And again. Until the line between hate and want blurred into something dangerously comfortable.

It wasn’t love, but it was something.

We made it work—until we didn’t.

🦋 𓂀 ──────── 𓂀 🦋

[August 25, 2023]

Paper Kite (Idea leuconoe)

You were steady. Safe. Familiar.

I think I could have loved you. Maybe I did.

But I wasn’t enough, was I?

Not enough to keep you from looking elsewhere. Not enough to keep you from leaving marks on someone else’s skin while your promises were still fresh on mine.

I should’ve seen it coming. Butterflies are fragile things.

🦋 𓂀 ──────── 𓂀 🦋

[March 13, 2024]

Oleander Hawk-Moth (Daphnis nerii)

Toxic. Poisonous. Deadly in the wrong hands.

You weren’t the first bad decision I made, but you were the worst.

You made me do things I never wanted. Took pieces of me without asking.

I hate you.

I hate that I let you in.

But I love that I got out.

🦋 𓂀 ──────── 𓂀 🦋

[February 28, 2025]

Spicebush Swallowtail (Papilio troilus)

You were reckless. Wild. The kind of danger that left my heart racing in the best way.

You had ink over every inch of your skin, scars that told stories, eyes that dared me to run but hands that always pulled me back in.

You loved the thrill. I loved you.

But even butterflies that ride the wind can’t stay in one place forever.

Africa called, and you answered.

Addio tesoro mio...

🦋 𓂀 ──────── 𓂀 🦋

[March 16, 2025]

Glasswing (Greta oto)

You.

The one I haven’t lost yet. The one I don’t want to lose.

You don’t feel real—like something I could reach for and shatter in an instant. But here you are, in my life, despite the distance, despite everything.

I’m trying not to hope. Trying not to dream too much.

But I think I could love you.

And I think you could love me too.

🦋 𓂀 ──────── 𓂀 🦋

:rose: The journal ends here—for now. A bookmark is tucked between the pages, waiting for the next entry. :rose:

– Quinn