Credit: Bhaumik Oza, Amerika, for the idea.
As the stars shine down on Houston, he collects his books, puts them back in the huge box that he uses to keep his stuff. He gathers himself, pulls his blanket over and closes his eyes. He remembers his parents who are far away from where he is. In the cold of the night, he feels up the velvet blanket he uses to cover himself. When he retires every night, he remembers people - his friends from college.
The ones he spent four years with - the ones that irritated him at times, the ones he liked, the ones he didn't like as much. Now that he had to ask for a friend's number to another, he remembers how close and connected that person was.
He now saves the minutes on his cell phone so that he can call back a friend in India- he calls each one in rotation every week.
The college he is remembering stands where it has always. There are people who are remembering it from different parts of the world.
So is he. He remembers one of his friends today, a joke he cracked and he goes to sleep.
The butterflies of different colours had gathered above the flowers in a garden. They tickled the surface of the flower to get its nectar. They pushed each other, fought with each other yet, stuck together.
One day, the butterflies flew away in different directions. Their bodies had rubbed against each other - they had left a mark of the unique colour each of them had on each other.
The butterflies are in different parts of the sky now... with each others' colours on their wings.
Do they realize the presence of this colour on their wings?