Three young caterpillars,
each moving through a different kind of hardship,
each carrying a quiet dream of what they might become.
One dreamed of blue wings,
certain that color would give him meaning.
One dreamed only of size,
believing more would make him enough.
One had no shape for his future
he wandered, unsure, unfinished even in hope.
Time did not ask what they wanted.
Growth did not wait for certainty.
The caterpillars grew,
and each emerged into a form
that did not match the dream they once held.
Disappointment clung to their wings
like the memory of something imagined.
But the one who had been lost
did not mourn what never formed.
He had desired no outcome,
measured himself against no image.
So when he emerged,
he did not resist what he became.
And in accepting what arrived without force,
he became the only one
at peace with his wings.