I am letting my little obsession glide me through the day.
Sometimes I feel I am playing with it like a cat with a mouse, catch and release. I am giving it green light to entertain me. I am controlling the game (or so it seems.) I could direct my attention somewhere else but what would I do without the butterflies inside me, the ticklish feeling of curious fascination and slow enjoyment. At first it was unexpected and slightly bewildering, coming from seemingly familiar place but so sudden in its new angle that led straight into 'Alice in Wonderland' rabbit hole. And here I am, weeks from then, still on the other side exploring the unknown, moving back and forth in time just to find something new every day.
I got used to the butterflies. I'm familiar with their comings and goings. The images have sharpened, feelings acquired new facets, senses are heightened to the breaking point. Joy ride indeed with a little sadness of inevitable expiration.
There must be some meaning to what's happening but it's hidden. I start to enjoy the flight more than I expected and don't wish to part with the newly found world that only I am privileged to see or know.
I wonder where I find myself in a month or year. Will it be the same, will it vanish or stay a little longer.
I don't know how long it'll last but I am already afraid to lose it. I need my butterflies and blinding glow of the afternoon  sun, and the ride, further away into another world that is also mine, at least in time if not in experience.
I cherish my little dreamy mouse and don't want to let it go. As far as I am concerned the butterflies can settle in.
I might choose to permanently reside in Wonderland severing all ties to the familiar.


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