Folded Crimson

Dear Emily,

I saw something today that made me think of you. A red origami swan hung from a string in a book store. I had no intention of buying any books today and yet i had wandered in aimlessly. After having walked around like a zombie i had stumbled into the arts section. There was a dank very mouldy stench in this section, like it had been unattended for a while. I was drawn to the swan.

Do you remember the winter three years ago we had decided to do something with our time and had taken up this craft form to alleviate ourselves from the boredom we had found ourselves in? You had learnt how to make them and i had not. We always used yellow or blue paper. It is curious how i do not remember ever using red. Maybe my memory fails me but I cannot recall. And yet this red swan reminded me of you.

I walked out of the book store. There was an immense weight on my heart as i did leave. I couldn’t shake it off, not even after a brisk walk. I had hoped the burning muscles in my legs would overshadow the pain i felt. I thought I had long forgotten the pain, I thought myself immune , or at the very least able to handle it better.

What is strange to me is that I should be moved so by the red crane. Almost fascinating the effect it had. I pass familiar places, go to our usual haunts, sit at our tables in restaurants, the songs we loved, the movies we watched together. Remnants of a relationship gone sour. We had such happy times, and some devastating moments.

I cannot put my finger on why the red crane mattered so much. The thought kept me occupied all evening. I still cannot shake it. The deep resentment i feel for you today is not because of what you did to me that summer. Today i feel powerless to you and what you mean to me even to this day.

I do not offer much in the way of reason behind this letter to you. I do not have any intentions of malice or hurt towards you. I wish to share what my mind had been writhing with, in hopes of unraveling something deep within. It has been almost to the end of this letter and there is none.

Somethings must remain a mystery I fear. Why other familiar things do not move me as much as this piece of crimson paper dealt such a blow to my mind that i am still reeling in its effect.

Fold — pinch and cut

Yours Truthfully,


Note — There is no Emily, she is a figment of my imagination

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