Butterfly effects?

This is a fantasy story

Who would have thought that one day my butterfly house would be seen with envy and admiration and not only as the refuge of a madwoman who particularly likes butterflies.
It took a pandemic for people to understand how much freedom there was in this place so full of life and colour.
While they were captivating day and night in their 50 square meters two-roomed apartments, maybe with their children at the computer intent on teaching, with the sofa as an office and the ceiling as a new sky, I spent most of the day here, in my beloved house of butterflies.
I spent most of the time thinking.
About everything.
Myself.
My past.
My future.
My school days.
The times with friends.
The lonely times.
The trips.
The sedentariness.
Childhood.
Adolescence.
Maturity.
Middle age.

At a certain point I decided to take notes and start taking notes of my reflections.
I don't feel like writing another "quarantine diary."
I've seen so many socials, I'm nauseous.
I won't be one of those people who will profit from this tragedy.
It'll be a diary that I'll keep for myself and I'll rework it with a cold mind.
I'll do it by trying to isolate the best concepts and make a project out of them.
An app, a club, a startup, a government, a website.
I don't know.
I'll start here, trying not to lose what I've done.
Maybe one day people will start seeing me for who I am, not just the crazy butterfly freak.
They've changed their minds about that. They might change their minds about something else, right?
Hopefully it won't take another pandemic to have that effect...