The Rope

I’m clutching onto a relationship that is as frayed as an old rope.  With care, the rope could have been mended like a mistake that was forgiven.  Or battered strands swapped for new ones, like bad memories replaced by good.  Sharp edges could have been avoided with patience and understanding.  The bond of love could have made it last forever.

But something went wrong.  Something turned bad.  Greed and anger gnawed at the sensitive strands and weakened our golden rope.  Neglect left it out in the storms of discontent, exposing it to the blistering heat of arguments and the frigid frustrations at night.  Resentment scraped incessantly, rubbing the rope raw until strands shriveled in agony and snapped.

Now all that’s left are hope and love.  With a heavy heart I watch you reach into your dark soul and pull out a knife that’s been sharpened by Contempt.  It doesn’t matter which strand you choose.  Neither one will survive alone.  Shall I bring out my own blade that has been honed by Despair and put the remaining strand out of its misery?

 I’d rather turn my back on you and find a new rope.