One of my earliest memories are of beautiful black and white marbled butterflies. They would flutter about is a certain magical way. That was my first sense of a deeper appreciation and celebration of life. It saddens me to think that people lose sight of their own marbled butterflies; to no longer want to love life. There's a deep sense of pity, and a harrowing guilt. Where are we while they are in agony? While they're are in pain. It only takes one person to bring them into a field flowers, and yet, we fail. To the few who might see this, please check up on your loved ones. Remind them how beauitiful life can be.
Sound advice
How can someone expect you to treat others with kindness if you can't treat yourself with kindness?