Those thoughts usually suppressed by rationality all surfaced.
He wanted to restrain himself, but he couldn't control the incessant chatter, each voice louder and more urgent than the last.
Perhaps this was his truest thoughts.
Only usually wrapped tightly by adult propriety and restraint.
But once transformed into a butterfly, the form may be small, but the heart is bare.
Those sour grumbles and childish complaints became the outlet for true feelings instead.
Alza couldn't understand what the butterfly was chirping about.
All he could hear was a succession of sharp cries, like some kind of emotion exploding by his ear, pricking and numbing them.
Previously, Heath Langdon always enjoyed holding him in his arms, warm palm, gentle movements, like protecting a rare treasure.
Back then, Alza never struggled, obediently lying there, gently rubbing his nose against Heath's collar.
