Crimson Thread
A whirlwind of emotion, a tide of pain, and a mountain to bear—all come crashing down the moment you’re found.
I met a boy. I loved him with my heart, soul, and mind. But what can I say? My karmic balance sheet was heavy. It demanded repayment, required strength, and took its due—in full and without mercy.
Desired and drained, the love I gave was like money wired to an account never to be seen again.
Soon after, I tried to make peace with the hurt left behind. I tried to explain that I wasn’t the one at fault—that blame belonged elsewhere—but I took the fall to protect someone bitten by fate. In that streak, I lost who could’ve been the man of my dreams—and always will be.
Now I burn in an Eden made of grief, locked out of a future I don’t remember choosing.
And yet, I can’t ignore how the same form keeps appearing in my life: the same eyes, the same height, the dimples that knew how to care, the glasses that track my every move, the same words, the same smile.
They say it took them by surprise—the way my eyes speak of whiskey and war.
Some speak with strength. Others speak through grief.
Still, they manage to maze a heart that’s seen it all.
They try to hold my attention longer than a week, but that’s hardly fair.
There are others who care—for the way I look, the way I speak. But the cycle grows tired.
Especially after the one I loved left a space in my heart filled only by hope I can no longer reach.
And so I keep finding copies of you—echoes, never the original.
Maybe this is nature’s cruel joke, the universe’s quiet punishment:
To show me everything I’ve lost by repeating it endlessly in new faces.
You—I cannot keep.
But I shall find another to whom I can give my love.
Still, it is only reflections of you I find.
Perhaps I’m destined to live inside a shrine to your image.
Not trapped, but always bound by this thread that pulls me back to the reckoning of my own madness.
Maybe I don’t deserve a new beginning.
Maybe I never asked for it.
Or maybe I’m too blind to see the world beyond your shadow.
But I don’t want to.
I was meant for this life—for the wedding in Greece, for the vows we never said.
So help me God, if not with you, then with a version of you.
Because though I might miss you now, I won’t let myself be buried in that longing.
One day, in a dress so white it blinds the past,
I will shine into a future you were never meant to witness.
But still, I know—I will one day see your surname etched somewhere,
And I’ll remember:
You can run, but you can never hide from the thread that binds us—
Invisible. Relentless. Forever.
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