I flit, I flutter, I fly, immersed in drunken happiness...But what's the use? It all ends. Everything will end one day...
And when it does, I sit in a corner. I take off my colourful cloak, leaving white and black clothes hanging limply on my body. The moments of happiness are gone. They were only temporary. They didn't last.
I flit; lifelessly. I flutter; pathetically. I fly; weakly. Nothing lasts.
But those moments of joy...they paint colours in my life.
Too bad that in the end, the rain falls and washes all these colours away...
Why isn't the paint permanent?
A facade. That's what my cloak of a thousand colours is...a mere facade. A facade to hide the loneliness, despair and grief underneath.
I am the colourless butterfly.
