Red Strands of Yarn

 

As I entered the room, I turned on the nightstand light on the left side corner, then grabbed a recently gifted old vinyl record I was planning to play couple of days ago but completely forgot about it. Dust was already resting gracefully on it. Really? Did I really receive it couple of days ago or was it just my brain squeezing it all into couple of days to avoid thinking of all that wasted time? The record had already started as I was heading for my favorite piece of furniture in this entire house, my light blue double sofa with one armrest. The sofa’s small soft white pillow hugged me as I held it cozily.

Pat entered the room as soon as I lied on my back. Pride and arrogance combined together in one creature. What was I thinking two years ago adopting charcoal black Pat? I don’t even like cats.

As always, Pat went for his most favorite object next to my handbag, a red yarn ball that turned into a brown yarn mess. What used to be a ball is so messy I feel sorry for poor Pat each time he starts undoing. A series of patience lessons I’ve been watching for months now. He does a great job actually in getting what he wants.

The first two tracks set the mood into a relaxing one. The third however started to shake the mood a bit, guitar always does. I grabbed the handheld mirror that was part of the present package I got alongside the record. The mirror was my hostage longer than the usual. Kept looking at my face features until I no more could recognize what I was seeing.

Who is this? Who am I?

Am I my feelings or the heart that creates them?

Am I my thoughts or their beholder?

Am I my faith or the it’s believer?

Am I my fate or who’s living it?

Am I the convictions or the actions?

Am I a soulful body or an embodied soul?

 

With his usual interruption, Pat kept on unrolling the ball of mess all around the room until he decided to include me in his little game. With a quick jump over me, the mirror fell and immediately broke into pieces surrounded by his master piece of art for the night, his endless red strands of yarn.

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