String of Connection
The string of connection between you and I was held close to both our hearts, centimetres apart. I have fallen into the pit once again, my hands scarred and bloody from scrambling desperately at the cold, unforgiving rocks of the pit to get out. I pulled the string of connection with me into the pit as I ran towards it. You didn’t really think I fell, did you? I ran, consciously with my own will, forgetting the feeling it brought me the previous time I “fell.” Pain comforts me, like it always has, as I look down to see my trembling, bloody hands still gripping the string of connection. We truly are thousands of miles apart now.
Looking down at the string of connection between us, my left-hand clasps onto the binoculars—my right hand gripping the string for dear life. There you are, your eyes away from me and your right hand, like mine, gripping the string... but something is off. Your knuckles aren’t as white as mine, your eyes away from me and your hair blowing in the wind. Why must it be like this? Your eyes drift around anywhere but my face. You’re so far away... My left-hand rises, pulling the binoculars to my eyes. I need to see you a little closer. My eyes look through the tubes to see you even further; your eyes stuck on the ground.
Cover Photo by Nikolina.