where do they go
the butterflies?" (14)
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| "A broken dream- where do they go the butterflies?" (14) |
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| Chad was sixteen (almost seventeen) when I was fourteen. Chad, the older man, the one I was warned about, but I seldom listen to anyone but experience. More so when I was fourteen. It was my first time, at an age when I wasn�t even sure what was supposed to happen. Some believed I was �raped,� but I know I was not. I wanted it to happen. In the woods near his house, I pulled a condom out of my bag. He said, "Are you sure?" I said, "I am sure." Virginity broken on his coat on a bed of leaves. I have no regret. I can�t even remember his face. I don�t care if I never see him again. Walking back, out of the woods, he picked me a flower off of a bush, a cluster of light pink petals. Six years later, William would pick for me a similar flower, unaware of the previous flower. Only this one was darker, purple with experience. All of the flowers are broken. My father took me home. | ||||