I don’t know
if time heals as much
as it wears us thin,
loosens our grip
on the line,
not giving up hope,
but giving in
to the realization
that whatever was on the other end
is not coming back,
will never be able to be
reeled in,
and eventually,
we reach for the tail end
instead
with our other hand,
of the kite,
not knowing what
it looks like
hidden
in the white clouds,
but sensing that
up is universally better
than down,
and little by little
our cut and blistered fingers
relax on the line
that sinks under
and without realizing,
we let it slip
to reach with the other hand
for that kite string,
believing, hoping,
again
in what it might bring…
You had me with the first line…. “I don’t know if time heals as much , as it wears us thin”.
I totally related to your poem!
Brilliant! Great imagery! 💙
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