Short Story

Love is a Tangled Red String

She sits before the fire on an old, worn couch with an equally withered blanket draped around her small form. The scent of coffee wafts through the air, giving this Winter getaway a sense of home. A fire burns brightly in the fireplace, giving warmth to the room and bathing it a soft orange hue. The snow falls and builds up against the window panes. The world looks almost blue with the coolness of the frost coupled with the evergreens growing around the building. It's comforting.

Hours have been spent with a bundle of red yarn. Cat cradles and knots have tangled the material, so now she spends the evening trying to correct it. Her mind isn't present. Her heart is distracting. The gentle tugs of the color feel familiar.

She sees green; the most gorgeous, imperfect jade. It was almost as if the Earth was looking back at her. Some times there was water lapping up over the edge. Some times there was the softest moss. The richest soil would be bare before her, but there would always be pines because she always sees green.

She feels gentle; delicate enough to almost not be felt at all. Skin against skin, a touch like porcelain, so firm and yet smooth, and comforting. Warm like the blanket she's wrapped in. As soft as the thread that tangles around her fingers. The color is yellow though muddled by the heat of the Summer sun. Relaxed and welcoming. Lively and joyous.

She pulls and pulls, but gets nowhere near completion. She can feel her heart unravel. Her emotions at the mercy of her wandering mind.

Pink, so hopeful like Spring. It's unusual for Winter. Enticing to the eye, she is reminded of home. Her mother's Azaleas blooming the garden, grown with love and care. She is beside herself with wonder as to the beauty of one flower and the power it can hold over the mind. How it invades the senses and blurs the consciousness.

She touches the darkness. Grasps it in a cautious fist, but does not pull. This no longer feels real. She desperately wishes it to be. To still be soft; a warm embrace. To feel those arms around her, if even only once. This is not real. This is just sad and painful to her open heart. He fades from her mind.

With clarity, and a heavy heart, she looks down her work. All is loose and free to be wrapped up again with exception of one. A small bow tied around her ring finger. Inviting and full of wishful thinking. A simple pull takes it away. Lonely and hoping.

The moon is her only company.