Butterflies

I think all of us are lonely. Somewhere. On some days. When our pinball like lives can't fill the holes like our hollow souls, on those days.
When we go for a lay up but leave the ball too early in the air and end up with a rebounded ball between our palms, dribbling between ' is my timing bad' or 'the court seems to get longer the closer I get' . Is it really our fault that we have this emptiness in the pit of our stomachs where even the butterflies dare to enter?
The funny thing is that the more I socialize the emptier I get, as though each person takes away a fraction of me but leaves as little as nothing for me to remember them with. Maybe they don't want to be remembered or maybe they too are so lonely, they feel that no one wants to remember them.
People are like paper and you want to put in your creativity to create something beautiful together but all they end up doing is give you paper cuts.
So on all the days I am alone amidst the crowds, or I don't seem to fit in, I don't choose to talk or interact, I just go under the basket and instead of a lay up, stand and shoot my ball from right below.

I file away sheets of paper bruising my body. I draw butterflies on the skin of my empty stomach and pick out some clay to work with because some days, you need to sculpt your own friend.