T h e  R e d  S t r i n g

     You were once the martyr.

     And I the taker.

     The wind was howling the night you visited me — the dream was repugnant until you came into the picture. You told me a story about two boys with a rare connection. A swipe of blood on one, and the same crimson on the other. The boy in red had the pureness of your face. Eyes that twinkled wisdom beneath his lashes, he was a mirror of you. And the latter was a lot like me...a lot like a lucky man to hold your warm gazes. But in the dream, you stayed unmoving as if wanting to hold your place. You continued with the story, proclaiming conflicts in a soft voice, full of empathy and silent sobs. The blood remained as an evidence of the link engraved to both the characters’ souls. It was magical, horrific — but magical.

     It was the same connection like ours.

Sway

     Now, let me tell you a story how we were indestructible — how I was willing to give you everything I had, every part of my soul, even the broken pieces. It was hardcore. I couldn’t even remember falling like I did but I still wondered if we’re standing in the same memory. We celebrated friendship in its simplicity — no rituals, no conditions, no nothing and survived with even virtual hugs and kisses. The wind continued blowing harshly in my dream when I vomited the colors of ugly sonnets existing between the line that divided us. Us. We spoke of indefinite individuality but we’re one. One. Two as one.

     It was indeed magical.

Perspectives

     We conversed easily like puffing air out of our lungs, exchanging words like trading breads. It was a necessity and we couldn’t survive without it. Every missed opportunity felt like slipping deaths between our fingertips. You knew me wholly, even my untold flaws and deepest scars. And I did cry because you understood. I cried and you said I’d got the best beating heart in the world. And we breathed, breathed, swayed against the wind itself. It was airplay at its best.

     And when we kissed — it was metaphorical.

Wildfire

     We fell apart, gradually. It was bound to happen. It was just a matter of time before we exchanged sweet nothings for the last moment. But the world was small, indeed. As much as you told me to connect to the world, there was one sole reason why I couldn’t do it. You see, you’re my own universe. So, I hoped for the ‘to be continued’ in our story without second guesses, without doubts that it wouldn’t happen because it would. The invisible threads were the stronger ties. And ours were the strongest when stretched and tangled.  

     But every hello had its own story of farewells. And mine came like a bullet train with the finest wheels. It was my second death. The realization of your power to break me, slow and easy, made me teary. Before I closed my eyes, I read what you had written in an old parchment crumpled against my palm.

* * * * *

     “Saudade (abstract noun) - is a unique portuguese word that has no immediate translation in english; saudade describes a deep emotional state of nostalgic longing for an absent something or someone that one loves; saudade was once described as “the love that remains” after someone is gone; saudade is the recollection of feelings, experiences, places or events that once brought excitement, pleasure, well-being, which now triggers the senses and makes one live again.”

* * * * *

     The letter made excuses so paperthin. And so I lived again.

The Union

     Soon the time would come when the world would finally understand. I lived because I chose to re-connect with you — to also have the power to create us, slow and easy, and ignite the fire burning as hot as the pits of hell. I lived because I still wanted us to be magical. But if I would perish before it happened, I promised to never forget the thread tied between our pinky fingers — never ever forget the face of you and the calmness that came with it.

     Even if I had only saw it on my dreams.

Finale

     But if I did forget, send me away with the words of a love song.

Red String of Fate

“An invisible red thread connects those who are destined to meet,

regardless of time, place, or circumstance.

The thread may stretch or tangle, but it will never break.”

fin.
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