the end of the rope

7dc77c1315cdb3bae62577f00d4414a6You came back into my life and handed me a rope. A rope that you started weaving day by day. With every “we” and “us” the rope got longer. With every “someday” and “eventually” I held the rope tighter. With this rope in my hand I could see the future, clear as glass. I knew exactly what I wanted. And you were on the other end, holding this rope you had made. Months went by and I held onto your rope. The tension started to slack and still I grasped it. I gave it a tug to make sure you were still there. You told me you couldn’t hold your end as tightly. I told myself that was okay. After all, you had made the rope, how could you possibly let go of it? When the rope started to unravel I clung on to it harder. If I could just keep my end together it wouldn’t be ruined. There would always be my end. So here I stand, white-knuckling the rope you handed me but I can no longer see you on the other end. There’s a little voice in my head saying “things will settle down and he’ll be back so I better not let go of this rope. Why else would he hand it to me??” People tell me to just let it go. Others try to hand me a new one. But I can’t seem to loosen my grip on something that isn’t even there anymore. Why can’t I just let go of the end of the rope?


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