moths and butterflies

She picked up a dead moth from the slm corner of the Burger King window. Outside some retarded tapestry of human urban life--everyone so intertwined and not giving a fuck.
She brought it to the table I am sitting at. I'm alone. I don't have any mney. I lost my wallet on Sunday.

Today is Thursday.

She told me it was a dead butterfly. I told her she really shouldn't be touching it. SHe had no idea what I was talking about.

Her name was gabby. SHe showed me how fast she could run but not before telling me she was faster than me.

I wish I had her eyes.

I told her that it was a moth not a butterfly. SHe said she was going to take it home and put it with a jar where she had another butterfly.

I have no qualms with Moths--just because they don't have dabs of color doesn't make them any less important--although they are hideous but I mean they've earned their keep--so I respect moths,

It's just that they aren't butterflies you know?

And I don't even know what's gonna happen when she learns that hideous gray thing isn't a butterfly.

Ultimately she's not gonna give a shit. She probably ate the damn thing and is probably mixing the taste of dust and filth and lint and shit for ice cream.

Bless her heart.

So if somebody can see a shit and piss alley and make it out to be a heaven good for them--because there is this strange interplay of being right and being happy.

And I don't care how hugely complicated the question is really, because its not one to be answered. it's hardly even a question. Just a challenge.

It's this challenge of how much awareness do you need to reach bliss? To be happy?

Who cares. I know nothing. But it was a moth and she was happy with it as a butterfly.

I don't want her to be unhappy alright--but I mean I have to wonder if she isn't 'truly' happy.

Who cares. I mean, I care but I know when its ultimately a stupid mulling.