They say knitting is an act of love, just like cooking.
If you knit something for someone,
You will think of them with every stitch.
This way your love will keep them warm.

Day One:
Your favorite color is blue.
I get out the red wool and start knitting.
I place the needles and wool in front of me.
I examine them for a while.
I stand upright, and exclaim,
“This scarf isn’t for you, by the way!”
I make sure to be loud and clear,
So that it could reach him across the 3672 km that separate us (yes, I counted them).

Day Two:
I start knitting.
My hands aren’t yet used to the two new needles.
I do not think of you.
I wrap the yarn around the needle to start stitching.
I applaud myself for not thinking of you until the third stitch.
I stop suddenly.
With furrowed brows, I wonder,
“If I think about not thinking about you, does that mean I’m thinking about you?”
I do not find an answer.
I let out a sigh of frustration.
I angrily continue stitching the row.
Fifty stitches, as my friend told me.
This way it won’t be too wide or too tight.
I begin the second row.
My hands are still not used to the needles.
I’m sure it’s because of the cold.

I leave my room to bring the electric heater.
I plug it in but it doesn’t work.
I unplug it, plug it again, wiggle it and press on the buttons,
But still, nothing.
I stand in front of it quietly.
I get a strong urge to break it into a million little pieces.
But I resist this urge for destruction,
And throw it out of my room instead.
I don’t want it to keep taunting me.
I get back to knitting a few more rows.
I get bored and put it down.

Day Three:
I find out that the rows I knitted yesterday are a complete mess.
I scold myself for breaking the main rule of knitting,
“Don’t crochet if you’re not in the mood for it.”
I undo all the stitches and start over.
First stitch,
Second,
Third.
I begin to think about who will end up with this scarf.
I know I’m not knitting it for someone special.
The needles start resisting again.
It’s as if they have their own free will.
They keep crossing over each other,
And I keep knitting.
The struggle gets more intense.
There’s only one victim here.
The wool that refuses to turn into a scarf.
I give up when I realize how absurd the whole thing is becoming.
I put everything down.
I know I’m going to unstitch it all tomorrow.

Day Four:
I undo the stitches I did yesterday,
Like I knew I would.
The wool starts to look weary as a result of getting unstitched twice.
I start again, slowly.
I think to myself that the needles must be thinking of you.
Yes, the needles must be thinking of you!
The resistance between the needles and me must be because I decided to cast the thought of you aside.
I persist and keep knitting.
Looks like the wool has decided to join the resistance.
It gets knotted in a way that could never be unwinded.
I grind my teeth in anger and throw them on the ground.
I leave the room angry at the needles, wool, knitting, and you.
I watch T.V until midnight.
Everyone else has gone to sleep.
I slip under my heavy blanket.
My anger turns into tears.
It’s ridiculous how I can’t knit a scarf without thinking of you.
“It’s a scarf,” I tell myself.
“It’s just a scarf.”
I fall asleep.

Day Five:
My eyes are still closed,
There’s a smile on my face.
Truth is, I don’t want to open my eyes.
I dreamt of you.
You were smiling, as usual.
You told me that your favorite color was still blue.
And that distance meant nothing.
It was a short dream,
But it was enough.
I jump out of bed,
Open my wardrobe,
And get out the blue wool.
I bring it close to my mouth and whisper your name.
I grab the needles from the floor.
I remove the red wool and put it aside.
I start knitting the blue wool.
The blue rows smoothly increase in number as I count:
One, two, three, four, five...