The people I loved have left.

My eldest sister, the light bulb of our family, the one who always switched the room on.
My sister-in-law, who cooked prawns so perfectly that love tasted like garlic and heat.
My mother, my earthly God, who needed no altar.
My father, who never said much, but made sure there was always food on the table.

One day, while showering, a familiar scent rose in the steam, the fragrance of farewell flowers.
It stopped me. I stood there longer than I should have.

Now butterflies linger around the flower pots at my doorstep.
They stay, then leave, then return.

I choose to believe they are visiting me.

That is why, whenever I see butterflies, I remember them.