When I opened the door, I saw her reddened eyes and nose. Her emotions painted onto her kind face as my empathy was invoked. “I’m sorry dear.” I said softly, she looked at me with forlorn eyes knowing that even while I couldn’t do anything, I wished to take away her pain. “I love you.” I said softly, watching her smile faintly. A bittersweet little smile as she turned away from the door and walked to her living room. She was allowing me inside her home, but the normally welcoming aura she had was damped by the cruelty of human nature. I wished I could do more, but the only thing I could do was shut the front door and hope that could protect her from the outside for a while. “Are you sure you love me?” she asked, picking up her sewing pattern. I knew the artistic side she had, I knew where it stemmed from… and I wished it wouldn’t come from a dark place.
“Of course I love you.” The words hung in the air as she seemed to glance at me again, showing another faintly bittersweet smile that only tugged at my heart. Instead of turning away, I smiled pleasantly at her, moving to sit next to her as she suddenly flinched at pricking her finger with the stitching she was doing. The blanket reflecting her mood, grey and black, the design was only a white circle so far. “What are you making?” I asked softly, trying to get her out of the turmoil of thoughts she was undoubtedly having. She seemed to relax a little, a spark of light in her misery as she ran her fingers over the fabric. “It’s going to be a man, with his head bowed.” She explained, concern sparked through me now. Was this symbolism for being torn down by the life? Or was it that she felt beyond torn down, into some dark place that I would have to throw a life line in? Her skilled fingers moved, the needle piercing through the fabric in a pregnant pause in time. I used it to collect my thoughts. There was nothing I could say or do to make her feel better, so there was only one thing left to do.
“Let me make something.” I smiled at her confused expression before she submitted. “What color do you want?” there was a clatter of noise in her sewing basket as her hand rummaged through it. “Red.” I picked the color up, threading it before I waited. The head in her design was made, the neck… then the torso. It was only then that I sat at the bottom of the blanket, seeding red through fabric as I concentrated. It wasn’t as easy as I would have thought. My lines came out crooked, even though I was simply making a heart. “Why are you making a red heart?” she spoke as she stopped, looking at me curiously. I could never love her the way she wanted. I could never protect her from the putrefaction of humanity. “To remind you that even when the world turns your back on you, I will always be a hand that you can reach out for.” I smiled softly even as her face became reddened again, her body shaking with sobs.
My arms wrapped around her, whispering words of comfort as tears slowly stopped. The cloth that she had used to dab her eyes was clenched tightly, looking as sorrowful as I had known she was when I first entered her home. “I’m sorry. I’ve trained myself never to cry in front of people.” She apologized. I finally allowed myself to frown. Gingerly I tilted her head up, looked at her straight in the eyes as I spoke firmly, “Don’t you ever feel ashamed of your emotions, I will love all your perfections.” I hummed, not flinching when the needle pricked my finger by accident. It was only when it had started to bleed that she gingerly guided my hand towards her in order to be bandaged. She let my hand go after a moment of hesitation, a shy smile on her face as I hesitated returning to my task. “Don’t you mean imperfections?”
“No, perfections.” There was no hesitation. I loved her, even if my love was as imperfect as the crooked lines of my sewn heart.