I once heard it said that the life of the butterfly is precisely the correct amount of time. 1 week. 168 hours. 10,080 minutes. 604,800 seconds. its life, and its beauty are fleeting. and in that, lies true beauty. transience is key. temporary is the life we live and the air we breathe. transitory are the people and places we surround ourselves with. transcendence is the goal. we will leave this place one day. we die to make life worth while. and as you bleed out in some alley way on the west side of town, or under a freeway overpass, or in a field beneath the sky, you will count the stars. you will hold on to what is real. the butterfly dies