Beeps In The Mind

He was the reason of my nomadic life from which I found pleasure in. I wandered and wandered; from gardens to gardens, villages to towns and sometimes from the woods to valleys.  And now, when I fix my little legs in that place, which by birth, is his native and not mine, I expected his face among the strangers I met. Many smiling faces, many faces mysterious past by but none of them was him. Everything was the same, as he explained; the weather, the flowers, the taste of nectar and so on.  Time has its reworks implied, but I can remember his words that date back to a time when I was a tiny caterpillar inside a chrysalis. I grew fast pumping his voice to my soul. Now that I got my wings to flutter and seek out, but I couldn't find him in any of the places I visited. Where is he? Am I late to reach here? When thinking about the average span of life that we flies normally have, it’s not small a transformation, from a caterpillar to a butterfly. But I am he