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010 — I Love You.

Some strings are maroon. Some are vermillion. Some are wine. Some are brick.

Some connections are quiet, like a secret escapade into a secluded garden at night. Some are loud, like the buzzing and honking of cars in a packed city avenue.

I wondered what mine would be like. I wondered if you would rush in and save the day, scoop me up in your arms and shield me from danger. Or perhaps, you would encounter me in a library, my nose buried in a book, with your golden hands pulling me from my hermit state.

You came in like the sun lighting up the sky on my darkest day. The darkness of the moon swallowed our thread, the people that danced around us lost their balance as our string made them trip over their feet.

You came in like an emperor, ready to provide and to love. Your light made me see our string is scarlet, glimmering so vibrantly in front of us like ruby inside a treasure chest. Your arms exude safety, and every time your touch met mine I felt my heart doing summersaults. An emperor has his empress, as you have me.

You came in, two cups in hand, each filled with our tears. Tears from our past mistakes, from our past men and women, from our past selves. The paths that led us to each other.

I feel fulfilled. You say I complete you. Our love blooms into something, I'm not sure what it is quite yet. Scarlet petals form around our string, string which sews together thin material into a new creation. A creation which I look forward to, as do you.

I love our string.

I love you.

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009 — The First String.

The moment He pulled apart my rib While I dozed in nothingness I awoke to the sounds of your breath and a union God himself blessed

A bond made of strings—red and blue From muscle, from marrow, from bone A union so sacred, so secret, so ours A union that was made to indulge

Every push, every pull Our string remains untouched It remains pristine Even when Eden reeks of lust

Our crimson string shines bright Even outside our garden It withstood the test of time The first string lasted forever

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008 — Forever.

My hands desperately hold the crimson thread tied around my finger. It's suffocating, in a way. To know my fate is settled. To know I have no choice. To know I am someone else's and not my own.

A swiss army knife is held on my right hand. My knuckles have become white from how hard I grip. The more I try to slice the thread, the more it quickly slips to the side, seemingly eager to dodge the blade.

I don't want this. I'm sure they don't either.

I drag the knife once more, this time with more vigor. I notice the thread starting to unravel, the thin strand nearly screams from the breakage. I measly whimper too—because at the end of the day, the string had become part of me too.

The strand gets thinner with every slice. Tears form through my eyes, and I bite my lip to swallow my screams. A sudden snap ends my pain. My pain, and my partner's.

There's red coming out. The liquid lands on my hands, clothes, and floor. I go to my bathroom to wash it off, quickly stripping myself as I sink my body into a warm bath.

The red isn't gone. It won't go away.

I scrub hard, hard enough that my skin cries for help. Makeup remover, acetone, oil, and soap. Nothing can make the red go away. I sigh as I change into a new set of clothes, staring at the newly acquired spots on my skin.

I guess fate always leaves behind a mark.

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007 — Only You.

The thread has become knotted.

Recklessly tied around my heart. I've no room to breathe, no room to move. I only know you. It's you and only you.

You trapped my heart and claimed it as yours, hypnotizing eyes and red string luring me in and blinding my senses. Like a feeble prey, I succumb to your greatness. To your power. To you.

You are my everything. My morning prayer, my afternoon peace, my moonlight. You cover my eyes with your red silk, your voice laced with the promise of fulfillment guiding me into your cage of obsession. Your arms feel like cotton. They pull me in with vigor.

I now know you. I see you.

You and only you.

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006 — Landline

I'm awoken from my nap by a strange voice, one I have never heard before. I thought I was hallucinating as the voice got louder.

"Hey, can you hear me? Hellooo?"

I look down at my left pinky. If I were crazy, I would think my own finger was talking to me. Perhaps the fact that I still haven't found my soulmate finally got to me. Maybe the craziness is a side effect.

"Don't act like me talking to you through a landline made from our string isn't 10 billion percent exhilarating."

The voice is smug, almost charming in a way. He sounds a bit pretentious, but I know better than to judge at first... sight? Oh, please. I haven't even seen the man.

"So, go get a plastic horn and place a Rochelle salt crystal inside it, yeah? Tie that into your string and you should be good to go. I'll be awaiting your call, soulmate."

His tone is mocking, yet sweet. I sigh as i rummage through every crevice of my own home looking for the materials listed. I manage to nearly burn down my kitchen, barely making it out alive with my crystal in hand. I tie everything down as per his instructions, and I feel a lump forming on my throat.

Should I say something? What do I say? What if he's disappointed with how I sound?

I shake my head in disapproval, there's no time for doubts. I clear my throat as I gently speak into the landline.

"Hello?"

"About time you called. I've been waiting."

I furrow my brows as I begin to wonder, "How did you manage to come up with this? Also—who are you?"

He lets out a laugh. It's dry and cocky.

"That's the power of science for ya. I'm a scientist, so to speak. My name's Ishigami Senku."

Everything clicks. His attitude, his wit, his brain—it all clicks. The name sounds more than familiar, as it's the only name that rumbles in my high school's busy halls. He was here the whole time.

"I've already narrowed you down to about three people. Mind telling me about yourself or are you gonna keep me guessing?"

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005 — Cleanup on Aisle 2

"Oh—jeez—can you stop?"

I mutter to the red string anxiously tugging at my pinky. What had been a tranquil Sunday evening at the convenience store had turned into an intriguing adventure, as I feel the tug once more—a tug so hard I face planted onto the floor, my arm sticking out towards the aisle in front of me.

The tug gets stronger with every passing second. It's like the thread tied around my pinky gets tighter, as if it's about to return to its owner. I scramble to get on my feet, failing to see the giant gondola shelving waiting to be hit. I feel like a bowling ball, striking full force against a poor shelf advertising a store brand detergent.

I hear another voice panting and muttering curses, so I lift my head only to find a person laying on the ground, defeated. He looks around my age—early twenties at most. Blond hair that messily frames his face, and ocean eyes that study your every reaction. He has a sheepish smile on his face, despite having his entire body crash against the display a few second ago too.

He extends his left arm towards me, and my arm does the same. An immediate reaction, seemingly out of... instinct?

We look at the string connecting our pinkies, then at each other. He flashes a smile yet again as he helps me get back on my feet.

"I think they should put a warning on that thing" he laughs, pointing at the detergent gondola with a quick nod. "It cleans up so good it brings love right to your feet."

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004 — Cord cutting

The two candles stand cowardly in front of me, bound together by a gaunt, gnarly crimson thread. A thread so worn out, so used, it can barely wrap itself around without withering into nothingness.

It lost its vibrance, its meaning, its soul.

A thread of empty promises and lackluster affection. A thread of venomous touches and lethal words, cutting deeply into my very core. A thread so thin, with just one look one can tell: this thread should have snapped long ago.

I know the blame lies solely on me. Perhaps it lies on my ego, who enjoyed being fed attention and touch. Words sweet like honey, and a voice so alluring I could start to understand why Ulises willingly threw himself to the sea. My mermaid, my anchor, my love.

Why would you let me drown in this sea of indifference?

The matchstick has been lit, and the candles begin to burn. The flames lightly tremble thanks to my nervous panting. They shake with me. They too are scared.

Letting go was not an option I could have thought of before. I thought you were meant for me, forever. That I could get to hold your hand on every walk home, tuck your hair behind your ear when it gets messy, or even be the one you thought of every morning, afternoon, and night.

But what's a red string worth if you do not felt the same?

The candles begin to cry. So I cry too. A painful goodbye, only for me. Your light makes you shine as an unreachable star, and i got sucked into being your shadow. The string snaps in a split second, seemingly our of ire. Out of rage.

What's a stupid red string worth if you never loved me.

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003 — Eyes.

"Can you please put on your glasses?"

I keep hearing the same phrase multiple times, my friends' chants haunting my ears. Absentmindedly, I let my fingers fiddle with the specs in front of me. They’re quite odd—rose tinted glass, and a vibrant crimson frame. The shape resembles that of a heart, though only if you squint. It looks more like two peaches glued together by red strings of yarn. If I put them on, my fate is settled. I've no choice. I see who awaits me.

It’s not a long process. Not if you want it to be, at least. Bless your eyes with the specs, and let the pink invade your world. Once the bubblegum hues have settled, you must look at the world around you. Look at the string that has risen in front of you, and follow the coordinates given. Find your person. Your other half. A twin flame, of sorts.

Hesitantly, I place the specs over my eyes. They seem to fit nicely, like a glove. Pink hues begin to hover from my peripheral to my central, eventually setting nest and covering my vision whole. It's an overwhelming feeling, I can practically feel my heart skip a few beats. The string is there; it feels like it comes from my eyes.

As my feet take steps into uncharted territory, I ponder.

What exactly awaits me? Or rather—who?

There are no expectations, or so I'd like to say. My prayers used to sound like chants for redeemable qualities. A broken record of the bare minimum.

I hope they're smart. I hope they're kind. I hope they love me as I am. I hope our blooming love becomes genuine. I hope our love isn't us playing house, with unsettling smiles plastered on our faces as the tears in our eyes reflect our misery. I hope they are worth this journey.

I hope I can feel free.

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002 — Neck.

My vision goes blurry It feels like time is standing still Why am I doing this? If not for adrenaline, or to make me ill

Red noose tied around me I tiptoe on the edge, over and over Is this what I’m meant to do If I can’t call you my lover?

I see your string Its end is not my finger The ache deep in my chest Is a feeling I don’t want to linger

Red string embraces my neck I am satisfied with my end Or so I’d like to say I’ve always been one to pretend

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001 — Knuckles.

I feel the pull.

The way the wind sways me down the path I know will lead to your smile, your laugh, and your warmth. The way my feet walk towards what—or more like who—I deem my home. My safe space. The one I most desperately ache to call my own.

I feel my sweater come undone. Strings of red yarn unravel at my feet, now an ocean of passion raging through the air—the soft yet prickly fabric urges me to follow. So I do.

Treacherous pathways, and so little time. I feel myself get pushed around in a sea of yarn, vision complete red. A red I was so desperate to avoid, yet I now find myself completely enveloped in its embrace. A red I was so blind to see before. A red that envelops us all.

My eyes shut close as I float in the red sea. I feel a tug. A red string tangled around my hand, slowly leading me ashore, slowly leading me home. Like a newborn, I crawl. I crawl to escape the turbulent connections, which I now understand were not meant for me.

I see the end. Crimson yarn neatly tied around knuckles. My anchor, my savior, my partner. The one my grandmother gushed about in her old tales of the red string.

I feel the pull. I know you feel it too. Because you tugged and pulled until I was yours to hold.