There is a string round my smallest finger,
red as blood,
thin as a hair and tied with a lopsided bow.
One of the ends trails away off out of sight.
If I tilt my head,
I can see it
gleaming in the sunlight
as it pools on the floor,
coiling in corners and underfoot,
sneaking under the door
and off to you.
You, who wake up in the morning
and drive to work that numbs your mind,
in that tiny little cubicle.
Or perhaps you don’t.
Perhaps you wake up each morning
full of joy,
excited for your work,
and the day’s possibility.
Perhaps you sleep in ‘til noon,
wander the streets,
looking for inspiration.
Perhaps you laugh in a crowd of friends.
Perhaps you enjoy the company of only a book.
Perhaps you hold yourself tight
and look around for someone,
so you don’t feel alone.
Perhaps you look at the bow on your finger,
tug at it lightly,
and wonder about me.
Image Source: vday01 by asterikka