Butterfly Sestina

It's not the first time I've been all alone.
Nor is it the first that I've missed you,
and the moments we spent together.
I spend this lonely day inside
watching over a single butterfly,
floating around outside in the air that's so cold.

I wonder if the butterfly is cold
from the weather, or from being alone.
How I wish to embrace the solemn butterfly,
and clutch it tight as if it were you.
It would be warm by the fire inside,
and at last we could be together.

My mind churns as my hands rub together
to keep my blood from getting cold.
I try to forget the feelings inside
that make me feel so alone.
I glance towards a portrait of you,
my last remnant, before going back to the butterfly

sitting on the window. Suddenly, the butterfly
is joined by a friend, and they sat there together.
I look a little more at the butterfly, then the visage of you,
and suddenly I don't feel so cold.
Perhaps, like the butterfly, I'm not really all alone.
Perhaps there's a piece of you still inside

of this room. Your smile emanates inside
my living room as I notice the butterfly
is now here with me. No longer alone,
I smile as we sit by the fire together
and let the warmth of love thaw the cold
thoughts that once surrounded my memory of you.

Now when my thoughts turn to you
I do not weep, but look inside
of my heart, where sweet, cold
pearls of memory blossom like premature butterflies.
I know we may no longer be together,
but that does not mean that I'm alone.

It isn't a bad feeling having those butterflies
fluttering around on the inside.
It reminds me that I'm not alone.