Jar

I keep my emotions closed. Like a caterpillar in a jar. It occasionally squirms, seeking release. It sees the outside, but cannot touch it. Soon, the effort is reduced to an act of futility. Nothing will come of trying to escape. So it sinks. Deeper, further into itself, until it becomes an inactive husk. A memory of a moment, lost in the past. And so time goes on. The jar is slowly emptied, waiting for its next victim. It refills, and the process repeats.

One day, it feels different. It feels bright, it feels warm. For a moment, you thought you saw the husk move. It couldn't be, could it? Inside the jar now resides a butterfly. Will you twist off the lid this time?