Little Red String
Shereen Soliman Little Red String staring at me from across the room. The one who seems to carry the power. The power to keep my vice alive. To my greatest dismay. Or is it? Little Red String, how has it come that I need you in my time of weakness? When will I learn that I might be free if I cut you loose? But Little Red String, you elevate me back to the version of myself I feel I lost. You make me drift on the clouds I lost. The weightlessness of life I chose to ignore and carry the heaviness on my back, just like the hunchback of Notre Dame. Little Red String, you help me find the piece of me I lost when I became narcotically numb. You connect my synapses to feel again. The bad, the ugly, just as I have always felt comfortable to feel. Little Red String you connect me with my vices and I seem to have to thank you for that. The narcotics keep away the bad but who doesn’t love a little bad? You know that life can’t always be rainbows and butterflies. There is a time
