Wings and The Broken

In this dramatic monologue for young women from the play, “Wings and the Broken”, Ella sits on the ground, cradling a small jar with a butterfly inside.

ELLA: It’s funny how something so tiny can carry so much weight. Not real weight—she probably weighs less than a paperclip. But the kind of weight you feel in your chest when you look at her too long. Like the way you feel after a really sad movie, when you don’t even know why you’re crying, but you just… are.

I caught her yesterday. This cute butterfly. Just for a second. I told myself I’d let her go. But then I didn’t. It’s not like I wanted to hurt her—I would never. It’s just… look at her. Her wings are like stained glass windows in a church. Beautiful.

You know, they say butterflies can remember being caterpillars. Isn’t that wild? Like, she spent all that time crawling through dirt and leaves, and then—poof—one day she has wings. But she still remembers. She still knows what it feels like to be small and slow and… earthbound.

I think that’s why I kept her. Not because she’s got beautiful colors—though, obviously, she does—but because she knows what it means to be both. Grounded and free. Crawling and flying. I thought… maybe if I held onto her, I could figure that out, too.

I’m sorry for keeping you. You were never meant to be here. I was just scared. Scared that if I let you go, I’d have to face my own empty skies. But I think I’m ready to let you go. You belong out there in the world. Not in a jar.

Ella lets the butterfly go.

There you go. Come on.

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Photo by Julia Caesar on Unsplash