a conversation

"a good idea, in theory," the small caterpillar said, smiling. "to allow yourself to grow into something beautiful."

"will you grow? will you grow inside of your chrysalis, just like your friends did?" you had asked.

"maybe," replied the caterpillar. "what happens is not up to me."

"what does that mean?"

"say a bird finds me and decides to itself, 'that there caterpillar looks quite delicious.' then, I become that bird's food."

"don't speak of such things."

"why?" the caterpillar questioned.

"because," you responded. "i do not wish for anything bad to happen to you."

"whoever said that was bad?"

"you'd never turn into a butterfly, then," you explained. "what about the beautiful growth?"

"mold," the caterpillar responded, calmly. "i could grow, still."

"but, then you'd be dead!" you told the caterpillar.

"death, another beautiful growth in itself," the caterpillar quietly responded. "interlocked in the very meaning of expected beauty."

"what does that mean?"

"it means you are beautiful, and so am i, and so are they," the caterpillar responded, gesturing to the emptiness of lush leaves and nature that surrounded the two beings. "all of them."

"all of them."

"so, allow yourself. allow them to be."

stay good.