Dead Butterfly

There was a big dead butterfly at my feet as I got out of the car to sign the paperwork that authorizes my sister, who has regularly failed me, to do stuff she failed me on.

Not a good day.

I know she is doing the best that she can, that she wants to help, but it certainly doesn’t feel like she understands anything about my experience of the world.

Me and the dead butterfly.  I always told her that one of us had to make it out of here alive, and it wasn’t going to be me.

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