Barely scarred or hurt, she was living perfectly. As perfect as she was taught to believe; but this caterpillar grew her wings. She was learning to fly like a butterfly she thought she was. She started understanding the world and her clique got reduced. Those with whom she used to dwell, made her life a burning hell. All she was, was a loving sprout but all she got was a barren ground. Now she curses the world she is in; now she know that no one cares; now she understand that she was better off without wings; ’cause all she saw afterwards was terrible rain.