There are ties that bend, ties that break and ties that cannot be untangled no matter how long you spend searching for the end of the thread and cursing the bloody thread and how dare it get into this much of a mess in the first place, damn it…
It is these last kind that I have most of. I see them as embroidery strands, they all have different colours, they all resonate to a different note, so maybe there is a guitar or violin string mixed up in the ball somewhere. Some contain shards of glass, some little bells whose song makes my heart sing.
They tie me to others, to those I find, or have found me, to those I am related to by birth or luck. The darker mud encrusted, mould and mildew infested ones are those I wish I could be rid of but they do not break, not for me, they are full of shards of mirror or ice, yet they do not break, not for me.
I have accepted my permanently tied status for some time now – it is part of me.
People I met in the strangest circumstances tied closer than family, people I never see still bound by these tangled webs of time and knowledge, that no matter how long a search for the end with the sewing scissors will not come undone and free me.
They pull on their holes on my chest and hurt, some the dull throb of long known scar tissue, some the sharp agony of the freshly made wound, but in time the pain will fade, become less frequent. Almost heal.
I always thought it was because others had never let me go that this is why I stay tangled, but now I am being pushed over a cliff in the desperation to flee from me, and the knot remains tied.
I am dangling by an embroidery strand buried in my heart, while my mother hacks at the other end, near invisible, tangled around her shoe.
She has let me go, untied her knot of mother, and mine still holds true. The mirror shards cut at me, pain screams in my veins and I search for the end that will unravel it all, and I cannot find and end, just desolation and decay – It is a wake without a funeral.
She is practiced at this, my mother, her bonds bend and break easily, with an ease I wish I had learnt at times. She seems to feel nothing as she unties and steps onward.
And I fall, towards the cliffs, pulled up suddenly, a row of faces above me, some knots straining to pull me down to no more, but far to many trying to hoist me upward, the jingle of bells, the smell of grease paint, the guitar strums, the bright colours of a possible future, the shards of mirror that cut still but I would be lost without.
With these unchangeable knots I shall be safe. I am glad I never learnt how to untie, It would have let me leave life floating long ago. I like to be tied so close yet with such a long line, and I like that no-one can make me let go.