the holding on
I’ve held onto it for the better part of this year. Mostly I’ve held on to my heart for fear its blood would seep out and I would go cold and hungry. It would not take much for me to become lifeless and live the rest of my life in solitude. It wouldn’t take much at all anymore. This is what I think most days these days.
When you hold so tightly to something, there’s no room for anything else. I am the master of holding onto tightly. Hold my fear, hold my temper, hold my tongue, hold my heart, hold my love, hold anything lest it get out of control…that’s a thing that gets wound pretty tight. (Or is it tightly here? I’ve never been one for writing proper either. or is it properly?)
But I also think I have finally given you away and that’s a start. I was denying that I still held you that close. There are lots of ways to deny things. I have held everything else at bay so nothing could touch anything else, so it couldn’t touch you I think. Because what I had was so fragile and delicate like the paper wings of child’s butterfly. Wet sticky fingers so easily destroy them.
And petulance, I don’t know why I am not able to let you in further. You are so needy and often desperate and I am so closed, holding onto the only things that still are warm and easy. You see the thump and the false starts that are like that old carburetor. Then the smoke lets out again only to die away quickly. Anyone can just hit the table hard and say it’s time for a new one then. But this is no $39.95 repair job. So, you’ve become something I just I fervently deny. In direct porportion to your desperate need to fix it.
I am seeing things a bit more clearly, loosening my grip to let myself step back but everything takes time. Real time. Unfortunatly, that means patience for some and letting go for others. And forgetting…