Red Folder

Paper is tucked beneath your pockets. One year old, it holds silent secrets. Secrets of how she unraveled like a ball of twine. Some days she peeks, sees the name and instantly knows she’s not ready. Words can heal, on the right day, at a precise moment. Why was it red? She can’t remember-- there were yellows maybe, but red seemed more… appropriate. Some times the red is a fear of the past, but sometimes, it’s just a connection to the bloody scars of a mistake. Maybe tomorrow, I can share your secrets.