To Kill a Butterfly

Today I killed a butterfly. Not just any butterfly, but the special one my crush gave me.
I couldn't help it, it had been too long. I just sat there, repeatedly dragging the knife across my skin as my tears mixed with the blood. As I did it I washed the rest of the almost faded butterfly away; it was dead, there was nothing I could do. I'd already torn off it's wings and snapped it's body in two, the least I could do was wash away the rest of it's mangled remains. It was too much of a reminder. A reminder that I had failed her.
I really did try this time. Most of the time I just ignore it, and kill it when the first urge comes, but this time I didn't. She was so proud of me. This time I managed to keep it for a whole 16 days, my best, ever. Daily she would text me and ask, "Is it still alive?" and I could always answer yes, but today I couldn't bring myself to answer. I think she understood, because a few minutes later she texted back, "I'm sorry..." and I just couldn't bare it, so I threw my phone out the window. I'd failed her, and her she was trying to comfort me. I don't deserve any sympathy.
That is why I'm writing this, so everyone on this entire fucked up planet can see what a failure I am. Today I killed a butterfly, and it was the most beautiful butterfly in the world.