The ropes I’d so carefully sewn on a half-willing heart
had been stretching longer than I cared to admit.
They pulled at the flesh too slow to recoil
but gradually dipped me in pain –
till I sank,
till the taste of air
would have been dizzying.
I felt every tug of the string
caught in her beloved discontent,
laboured for the broken thread
of a love I carried alone.
And when she was finally brave enough
to take up the knife
and slice us in two,
I was stung with grief,
and with relief.