With much intrigue, I greedily opened the e-mail. I'd have thought my heart would get used to it and stop skipping a beat whenever this happens. I couldn't figure out why I all of a sudden I was having an extremley hard time breathing. It's like my body just turns off everything whenever I see his name in my Inbox. The first thing I notice is an attachment. This is normal. He sends me his art most times. I read the first line. It reads: "Look at the attatchment, then read the rest please." Unusual. Curiousity, now out of control, hastens me to click the attachment. ..I wait.. After a few moments a picture pops up. One of the most beautiful I have ever seen. It's a girl. You can only see one dusky, eyelash bordered eye. You can see strands of hair that have been gently swept to the side. As if a summery current carried it there. The rest of the face is veiled by a butterfly. It's laying there, so fragile and delicate..just how all butterflies are. You can see the detailed water droplets splattered all over it's exquisite, feather-light wings. It can't fly. That's why it's simply laying there gracefully. As if accepting that it's going to die soon. Die.... with the girl. It was beautiful, but all of a sudden I felt worried. He photographs what he's feeling, he uses his computer to take pictures and make them his mood. Make them his life. I quickly go back to the e-mail and begin to read. As I thought, the girl was me. Braden took that picture of me when we went and played in the park. I'd done my hair nice that day because, well..it was the weekend...which is why it had that wind-swept look to it. It had been windy and cold. And yeah, I had been on my side. I sent it to him the next day because, he asked for pictures. I keep reading. He added in the butterfly of course. He made me look so morbid and sad and it still didn't say why. My answer came with the next paragraphs of text. It represented how he felt. The longing in my eyes represented his yearning for me. The cloudyness of the eye itself represented guilt, regret and remorse. The butterfly, me. He said he could tell by my look in that picture that he'd killed part me because of all the things he did, all those things he said. The rain drops represented his mistakes, and that me, and that beautifully sad butterfly laying there together, represented how he'd die for us to be together. Why now?