(Invisible) Red Thread

A pink ribbon is all I have left of her. That pretty ribbon she used to tie around her black hair. I take it carefully, as if I was afraid that, because of time, it had become so fragile it might break between my clumsy and scratchy hands. I stare at it for a long moment and then, I bring it closer to my heart.

A lightning crosses the sky, scraping it and illuminates the city beyond with its radiance; I look out the window and, as I wait for the thunder to strike, I wonder if it’s raining wherever she is and, if so, who will protect her from the noises of the devastated and scandalous sky that she fiercely fears.

Anger seizes me because of the impotence I feel and I take it out hitting the wall and leaving a big hole on it. It shouldn’t bother me. It’s been so long without me being there for her even at the simplest moments that I shouldn’t feel guilty right now. But it’s always in times like these when I remember her the most and when I hate my parents the most fort taking me away from her when we were just two kids. With hatred still feeding me with energy, I put the pink ribbon inside my suitcase, I close the zipper and hang it on my shoulder. Before stepping out, I make sure the door covers the hole my fit just opened on the wall.

Outside the house, the rain drenches my hair and clothes as if someone had poured a bucket over me from the second floor. Just as I climb on the car, a pair of headlights appears around the corner, making their way through the darkness and the thick rain; but I don’t care, I start the engine and run away as fast as I can, making the tires skid on the wet pavement.

They can follow me, they can stop me, and they can even kill me. But the invisible red thread that binds me irrevocably to her, nobody will ever cut.