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  • Writer's picturessewan


Do you believe that it's better to know you have tried and given something 110% and have it fail, or is it better to give up on it before you fail?

I guess I'm torn... will I be more heartbroken over not knowing what could have been?

Or would I be more heartbroken over efforts dismissed?

For you, you gave up and let go, but you never even looked back to see that you let go of something that was trying to hold on. And for you.... it doesn't seem to hurt at all to look back and see you had lost something you wanted.

For me... I kept reaching for your hand, even as you let go. It hurt, but I knew wondering... if I could have grasped on firmer, if I could have tried harder, if I could have reached further... would hurt even more.

For you, it was all replaceable.

For me, you were irreplaceable.

Why didn't you cry out, so I could find you? Why did you just let me slip by?

But then I ask myself the same question: Why did I just let you let go? Why didn't I hold on a little tighter?

Now parallel, passing by different roads -- I see you from afar, hanging onto something else.

And yet I am still reaching out, running and racing against the flow... trying to grasp onto anything -- loose threads, wisps of tendrils.

You look so unscathed... seem so unhurt, with barely any traces of me left.

And yet I'm here, scarred and bruised, with your name etched in every part of my soul... still praying for a chance that I am almost certain will never come.

Should I have given up like you did?

But then I wonder if it would have been better if you held on like I did.

Maybe we would have eventually been torn apart anyways by the waves crashing against us.

But what if we would have floated and drifted off to safety together?

Isn't that what love is? Always colliding... drifting... but always holding on.

...But holding onto that dream of love seems so unrealistic now.

Should I let go?

Yet every time I begin to withdraw my hand, your hand moves just every so slightly towards me... and I lunge forward... harder... harder.

Maybe I will reach you again.

But... am I holding on to you or the fight for you, now?

There it goes again; your fingers twitched and extended my way... but still just short of my reach.

Will you ever be within my reach again? My fingers of shredded tissue seem to get further and further out of reach from your perfect hands.

As I stare at your retreating figure, I can't help but wonder: Did it hurt at all for you to let go?

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