I always have this feeling that I’m chasing something. Something that makes me happy, maybe even makes me complete. Something beautiful like a butterfly that sits on a daisy when I walk through a deserted corner of the park on a sunny afternoon in spring. The butterfly sits peacefully surrounded by the white petals. I stand still and look at it. It looks so beautiful that it makes me smile and I wonder if I could catch it. I start moving towards it, one careful step after the other.

It's orange spotted wings are spread wide, barely moving on the soft breeze that blows the smell of grass, wood, and earth through the air. I breathe slowly through my nose, my lips pressed together, almost afraid that breathing through my mouth would give me away. Just a few more steps and this butterfly is within my arms reach.

My feet feel heavy, as if the gravel I’m standing on tries to suck me in like quicksand. It slows me down to reach that what I desire. No matter how careful I take each heavy step, the sound of gravel crunching ripples through the air like obnoxious commercial breaks during a movie on television. I know it’s coming, but I don’t want to hear it, not now.

My gaze is still fixated on this thing of beauty, sitting motionless just a few steps in front of me. Did it notice my footsteps? It must know I’m closing in, but for now it’s ignoring me. Could it really be this easy?

But when I set another step closer to it, I’m starting to wonder what I would do with it once caught. Do I hold onto it? Keep it in my hands and never let it go? Do I hide it from everyone’s view? This butterfly that on first glance I thought I wouldn’t be able to catch. Or do I put it in a jar? For everyone to see I caught it, that I have something magnificent in my possession.

Doubt crawls into my mind as I take the final step. I’m close enough to reach out for it, to take it. But I’m nervous; it’s too good to be true. I can’t really catch something as beautiful as this, not me.

I slowly reach my arms out. They are shaking despite my attempt to keep them as still as possible. My heart beats loud and fast as my hands slowly surround the butterfly like a bowl. I smile, laugh even, as the butterfly tries to escape. It tickles my skin as it flutters around in my hands.

I hold it in front of me; watch it dance in my hand-made cage, in disbelieve that I caught something so beautiful and fragile. I grin widely, like a kid who has just received the toy he always wanted. But then I look to my left and on another daisy, just a few steps away, I see something so beautiful I’ve never seen before. It’s a butterfly, but this one has blue wings that appear to glow.

I look at it then I look back at the butterfly I just caught. Back and forth I look and I can’t help but think that the butterfly on the flower looks much more beautiful than my butterfly. I’m confused. Did I make the wrong choice? Was it even a choice? I didn’t see the blue butterfly before I caught this one. Maybe I should let this one go, maybe this other butterfly is really what I’m looking for.

I open my hands and my butterfly flies up into the air. I look at it for a moment. As it flies away there’s a hint of regret, it was beautiful. But I quickly return my gaze to the butterfly on the flower. It’s definitely more beautiful than the one I just set free and slowly, one careful step after the other, I move closer.