hold on
you can try so hard to win a tug-of-war game,
it doesn’t mean you’ll have enough strength to win.
you can pull the door shut as hard as you want,
but that won’t take away the shoe that’s in the way from its closing.
you can push,
you can pull,
as hard as you want,
with so so much strength.
that doesn’t mean you’ll succeed.
but when you try to let go,
when you decide it’s time,
when you can’t take the sleepless nights,
the no-focus classes,
the staring-into-blank-space,
or even the zoning out,
you want to let go.
but there’s always going to be that connection,
the thing that stops you from letting go,
the reason you hold on,
just a bit longer,
just a bit harder.
there’s that void you know you’ll feel when you let go,
there’s the time you know you are going to need to heal,
there’s that awful feeling of missing him,
all of those things make you want to hold on,
you can’t let go because you can’t deal with those feelings,
you know they’ll put you lower than you already are.
it’s like she said,
‘your rituals carved into my skin’
it won’t be the rituals,
it’ll be those feelings you won’t be able to feel,
because you won’t let go.
and you know it might hurt more to hold on,
but if you let go,
you’ll feel the need of him,
his hands around your waist,
his eyes staring into yours as he listens to your every word,
the whole length of your body touching his,
nothing and everything,
all at once.
you can’t stand the idea of not needing him,
so you pick the pain of needing him,
instead of picking the pain of letting him go.
one of them is worse than the other,
you just can tell which one,
all because you can’t stand the idea of not needing him.
and that is all you need to hold on,
just a bit longer,
just a bit harder.