Pink Ribbon

The news was so bad that it was delivered wrapped in a pink ribbon to soften the blow. The car ride seemed longer than ever. The late afternoon spring sun shone through the driver's side window. All of the road signs were blurry. Time went by so slowly. When we pulled in, the headlights were like spotlights, calling out all the critters lurking around the backyard.

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Everything seems much scarier at night, when imagination gets so out of hand it is hard to sleep through the tears. In the sunlight, everything falls back into place, and the idea of loss seems almost more painful than the loss itself.

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The pink ribbon races in my blood, running through me. I try so hard to avoid falling into the same patterns, but it's like karmic lineage that has been passed down to me. Even the slightest movement seemed to knot it up in a tangled mess. I tried to untangle it, but the more I pulled, the tighter the knots became.