Dark grey skies in sunny days, wilted flowers in spring. A black and white story written by Lowry only seeing the red strings surrounding me. There’s many ties close by, shorten by my way home or near a dear friend who never fails to brighten my day. Still there’s an obscure string that leads to somewhere unknown. A firm and never-ending thread, far from my beating rhythm. It touches the center of my heart, and continuously sings melodies following each other’s beats.

Sometimes I pull our scarlet cord in hopes to bring you closer to me, while other times I feel the slightest tug towards unfamiliar places. The lack of courage I possess inhibits my curiosity from wandering off to a future of many possibilities, including the one where you and I live in eternal bliss with an occasional catastrophic energy. Miserably, I tie myself to common places, objects, and people. Comfortable in the presences of the familiar strings, I rarely bother to fidget with the main cord. It’s a destiny which I am petrified of, and fully-aware that could possibly lead to painful paths, dark alleys and gaping abysses. Still in the mist I see the line glowing red as I leave iris footsteps running every so often to reach the stranger’s silhouette at the end of the string.

As time passes by, I wonder if I am closer to your heart. Your shadow has yet to reveal itself. When I tried taking short-cuts, the choices made on the crossroad were rough paths, dead-ends and darkness. Confused by the different lines intertwining, I grabbed onto rotten strings attached to a gray knight, who took my hand and knotted his thread with mine. Pretended to care and showered me with affection until I gave him a piece of my string, of myself. Tangled between these loops and knots created by a puppeteer that kept pulling and twisting until the day he was tired of hearing me cry from the cuts and burns these strands left on my fragile skin and naive mind.

The deceiving string master threaten to cut the threads many times, but I took the matches first and set them ablaze. Watched in awe as the sacred red turned from flames to ashes, and liberated myself from the torture and pain caused by the first love. Nowadays I wear the scars from that night in September, but occasionally cover them with drugstore makeup just in case you decide to come to my life. Before we meet, please allow me to heal my scars, to travel the world, and learn how to be happy with my company. Someday they will disappear, and this red string tied to our hearts will remain proof of our souls unity.

We will probably never be perfect, and this cord does not guarantee blissful days. As this distant shortens between us, your indigo steps close near my iris, red will no longer be the only color we will see. For our strings and lights will make violet sparks, and our eternal bond will flare fireworks of every color clearing the grey skies.