Dear little, red, scarf,

I made you.

I spent minutes,

That turned into hours.

Hours, that turned into days,

Creating you,

Making you,

Knitting you.

I knitted until my delicate, little fingers ached.

Sometimes that took only minutes,

Or hours,

Or even those long, hard, days.

I worked on you in my times of need.

Knitting my sorrows with every stitch,

Every loop of your red string,

I worked on you in my times of rejoice.

I worked on you in my times of rest.

I worked on you in my times of boredom.

I worked on you in my times when I had no emotion at all.

Dear red scarf

I created you,

I made you,

I knitted you.

And this is how you repay me?!

You tore, right down the center.

A long, red, stringy,

Tear.

Dear scarf,

You’re of no use to me anymore.

You cant warm my neck,

When the cold wind is breathing down it.

You cant wipe away my tears,

When they begin to form in my eyes.

You’re of no use to me anymore, my once little, red, scarf.