Fatal

It was a red string
that tugged us together.
When I was lost
you were point B; base camp.
When you were crying for an echo
I could be a reflection.
Cool glass in my own two hands
fate incarnate.
But string is string
and life is sharp
the pain was twisting
and you ran away –
it’s too much strain
to put on a little, red string.
(And I think you know that).