Aligned properly, facing the sun, the jars look colorful and happy. He drew himself the smiling faces, careful about each single detail, for they’re a pure expression of beauty and joy.
He knows about tenderness, the way he learned it all of his life, so, from time to time, he speaks soft words to the happy jars. And when a new one is added to the alignment, he sings a special song of victory.
He’s not afraid to say the words.
I love you when he runs his fingers on the top of his jars, making sure they’re all clean and pretty. He could swear that a smiling face smiles even brighter under his gentle touch.
You’re safe with me when he locks the silver cap of every happy jar, convinced that a sense of entitlement is the guarantee for every meaningful existence.
My sweet darling when colors mix together in wonderful rainbows and the happy jars are simply blooming under his safe guidance.
He’s happy with his happy jars and no one talks about dark fantasies and dirty secrets, and no one even knows…
’cause no one ever cared about those silly, dippy, giddy, pretty happy jars!
But when all butterflies laid breathless, behind the painted glass of happy jars, when painted happy faces were the only witness of the last flinch of those white pairs of wings…
when lifeless eyes contemplate a sun that’s colder than a thousand infernos…
that’s when the world you knew becomes a place of danger.
Because, you know, he still collects them, he still aligns them to face the sunshine. He still draws happy faces, endless rainbows, little pink hearts, making sure that all of his butterflies are perfectly pretty and clean inside of his happy jars.
And now he knows the secret…when they lay motionless, all butterflies turn into heart-shaped diamonds.
And hearts are just irresistible to this kind of predator, aren’t they?
Note: Yes, it was about the Malignant Narcissist…
All credits for the photo to Jill Wellington from http://www.pixabay.com