The Day Your Red Cord Turned Black

I have always been able to see the threads above people’s heads.

A pale pink filament means infatuation—the light, restless flutter of a crush. A rich crimson cord signifies entanglement: deep devotion, karmic weight, a true marriage of souls. And a black thread means a severed spirit. A heart that has gone cold and turned to ash.

When I was five years old, I watched my father’s crown choke beneath a dense, writhing thicket of crimson cords, tied to women whose names were never spoken aloud in our house.