I had been wrapped in a lavish ribbon for as long as I could remember.

Since birth I had been swaddled in this ribbon. I've grown into it as the years go by.

My ribbon had been of tiffany blue with purple and pink accents like the sunset.

Those around me had been entangled in ribbons of hues addressing their jumbled thoughts and ambitions.

Some people had taken all that was left of their ribbon in an effort to tie it to someone else's, creating a magnificent bow. This is what love had looked like.

I had hopes and aspirations of finding someone who would share my shabby ribbon.

Over time my once brand new ribbon had deteriorated into fragments of color, strings of hope. I wished to find love before my ribbon had turned into thread.

Now looking back on things and at my ribbon, I see the knot that has adorned it. I see the marks of someone who wished to help me with a pair of careless scissors.

As I trace my fingers over my mangled ribbon, the once sweet and soft fabric pricks my fingers. He changed me and my ribbon all for the worse.

His ribbon was tar black