In the eyes of the universe, our earth’s existence is but a minute in time. And in the eyes of our earth, humankind’s presence is no longer then an instant. And in the eyes of the human race, our individual life is but a point on the timeline. But in our eyes, our life my never end and our legacy will never perish.

Butterflies are just moments in our eyes. Blink and they’re gone.

Indeed, Butterflies are moments. They are the fleeting instance of soft wings and the puffs of life that survive long enough to provide the next wave of a species’ existence. They don’t last for long.

We have become so confident in our own survival that butterflies’ lifespans seem to be mere specks compared to the timeline we presume is ours.

And yet, humans cling to that notion of long-levity like it’s something that could slip from their fingers at any moment. As if the surface beneath them is fragile glass, guaranteeing nothing but the probability that it will not shatter underfoot. As if nothing is promised except for the whispered swears we make to ourselves, nothing is assured expect for the assurances we give each other.

Time is a matter of perspective, and life a collage of moments. Instants that contribute a car to one’s train of thought, add a drop into the bucket, and allow the horizon to stretch a little farther for the eyes that wander. Butterfly moments.