The Lines We Grip

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…