Ruby Pathfinder

T hey say some signs in life don’t come with thunder. They don’t shout or beg you to notice. They arrive quiet, delicate, almost too soft to be real. Like a red butterfly. I only saw it once. Just a flicker, wings the color of dusk and heartache, fluttering past a window I wasn’t supposed to be near. No one else noticed. But something about it stayed with me. Like it was carrying a message I wasn’t ready to hear yet. Later, I wondered: Was it a warning? A goodbye? A version of myself flying away before I could say wait, don’t go ? They say red butterflies don’t just appear. Old stories say they carry souls. Others say they come when a choice is about to change everything. Some whisper that when a red butterfly crosses your path, someone you once loved is trying to reach you… or remind you of something you’ve buried too deep. Maybe that’s why it unsettled me... not because it was there, but because it felt like something I almost missed. A fragile moment between memory and message. What...

They say red ink is loud... too loud for love letters, too bold for apologies, too haunting for truth. But that’s exactly why secrets are written in it. Black ink hides. Blue ink blends. But red? Red ink bleeds. Red ink screams. Red ink remembers. I once found an old diary in a locked drawer. the pages yellowed, fragile, and soft at the corners but what struck me most was the handwriting… all of it, in red. There were no titles. No dates. Just a steady flow of thoughts, scattered like rose petals and blood drops across the paper. Some of the entries were calm, almost poetic... “I wonder if he ever knew I watched him from the window.” “She knows. I saw it in her eyes. I shouldn’t have said anything.” It was as if the ink wasn’t just carrying the words. It was carrying pain, urgency, guilt, love, longing. Like every letter wanted to be remembered forever. Red ink doesn’t ask you to read it. It dares you to. The Language of Red Have you ever written something so raw, so honest, that it s...