the metaphor of the rope

 

I've always thought that when the time came I would drop that rope as easily as I had picked it up. but oftentimes, as we see; things don't really turn out the way we expect them to be

my mistake had been to assume that I had control over the rope. my mistake was thinking that I was holding the rope, and that if the weight exceeded my capacity I would simply let it fall, I thought I could let the rope go.

I sit here; I stand here; I lie here, digging my nails into the muddy ground, trying to hold onto the edge, trying to not be dragged below the cliff. I say trying because, as I've come to realize; I'm not holding the rope.

this rope made of my love for you confines me; bounds me; restricts me. and it will eventually pull me over the edge through the weight of your apathy. as I'm tied up: struggling to escape the merciless clasp you have on me.