My last recollection of seeing a black butterfly was not long ago.
I remember it was on a particular flower.
I remember it was on a red flower that had just bud after sun rise.
I remember the birds were singing in and out of unison.
I remember the smell of the wet grass.
I remember the color contrast of everything turning to black and white.
And I remember the black butterfly running towards the sunset.
I remember the flower turning from red, to gray, then black.
And I remember it folding in and finally giving way to life.
And when I looked for the black butterfly, it was gone.
I remember my life flashing by the second.
And I remember the seeing and the feeling of losing red flowers.