The blanket used to cover me up whole, like a sort of safety precaution against reality. All the thread and fabric intact, giving me a shield.
This green blanket has seen the ending times of when my parents loved each other, and the thereafter of when they couldn’t be in the same room in fear of another fight happening. Some thread and fabric broke off, whenever mom took me away from dad. And even more fabric was broken off the day my dad ruined his relationship with me for the first time.
It has seen the birth of my father’s other relationships and the deaths of them, the birth of my mother’s love for two others and one subsequent end. More thread snapped, all the repairs ruined, as they were ripped away from me faster than I could comprehend in the vast expanse of time.
It was there for when people died, my pets died, and when I almost died in a more mental state than physical. More repairs made, more tears and blood embedded, but more holes were created.
The blanket doesn’t resemble its original shape or form at all, but what is love if not being torn to your roots and rebuilt? Are we not all a form of rebuilt pieces, being ripped apart and thrown back together hastily?
In the threads and repairs of my once green blanket lies the stories of my life, and what I hope is the rest of the fairy tales of my life. The threads entangled like the stories of my life, many of them not replaceable but many repairable. The fates interwoven string, some cut, but most intact.
My green blanket is still here, torn and loved with barely even a lifetime. Sometimes the identical copy, nearly untouched for over a decade, takes its place. The pristine white of the blanket was damaged by years of sitting and some paint splotches when I was less careful. It’s more together, when compared. It has no holes, the satin is still there on this one, comforting and soothing me when everything goes wrong.
But sometimes the green blanket comes back out, comforting in the way that it was my only friend and stable thing for many years. Keeping me tethered to the universe so I don’t float away in fantasies I won’t ever reach.
Author’s Note:
I am often reminded that we are such small insignificant things in the big scheme of time. These ants are doing what they need to do to survive, their entire purpose is often just this. Our entire purpose shouldn’t just be work and no play, so keep doing that fun thing you like and everything will be alright.
Toby Kraus | 17 | Kenosha, WI | @tobystacobell on TikTok & @boobertothed.lf on Instagram
