You know the red string theory? The idea that two people are connected by a red thread tied around their hearts?
I know it comes from an old East Asian belief, but that's what this feels like.
It feels as though a red string is wound tightly around my heart, pulling and pulling until it steals my breath and throws off my rhythm. That thread stretches across every corner of the earth, through heaven and hell, wrapping itself around everything we know. I could follow it for miles, for thousands of miles, for light-years if I had to.
And no matter where it takes me, it always leads to the same place.
It has always led to her.
The difference is that she doesn't see her end of the string the way I see mine. And she has no obligation to.
She has countless strings tied to countless people. They tug at her gently, loosely enough that she can ignore them, or cut them loose if she needs to. Mine gets lost in the pile because, to her, it's just another thread.
But her string around my heart is different from all the others.
It's impossible to ignore.
Sometimes it glows pink and purple, shimmering like a night sky full of stars. Sometimes it darkens, and something heavy crawls up its length, staining everything it touches like ink spreading through water.
Most of the time, though, it looks like a sunset.
Beautiful, and warm. It burns the eyes but it's impossible to look away.
For a brief moment, the sky paints itself with color. Then the sun slips below the horizon, and everything you see is swallowed by darkness. You can still feel your way through the night if you have to, but nothing feels quite the same.
Eventually, though, morning comes. It always does.
And when the first light breaks over the horizon, you're reminded of the warmth you missed. Then evening arrives again, and the cycle repeats.
The nights are temporary, but they never truly go away.
The sun is the thing that leaves each evening and brings the darkness. Yet, if you removed the sun entirely, there would be nothing left but night.
Maybe during those dark hours you'll meet someone else beneath the fading glow of dusk. Maybe you'll talk, laugh, and grow close.
But the sun still rises in the morning.
And when you feel its warmth again, you're reminded that nothing compares.
Her string around my heart is like the sunlight. It comes and goes, but it never truly leaves. It hurts in the most bittersweet way. It pulls and tightens and aches, yet sometimes I think that without it, my heart would forget its rhythm altogether.
So all I can do is love the string.
I can paint it her favorite color. I can give it a gentle tug now and then, hoping she notices. Hoping she remembers the hold she has on me.
And maybe one day I'll find my moon waiting somewhere in the darkness. Someone who reflects and refracts the small light I have.
But the sun will always rise once more.
I'll show up at her doorstep with flowers in hand. I'll take her out to dinners and take care of her when she's sick. I'll buy her everything she wants and help her with anything she needs. We'll go dancing at the loudest place in town and we'll snuggle in the quietest place on earth.
To her, it might never be more than a loose red string.
