From now on I’ll ask,
Why I do nothing.
I collect rejected snapshots.
Warm memories of that was then.

When the end of the rope comes,
It is only the end, not the length of it.
He stood in the bathroom and looked back.
What did we do together,
Why did we do anything.

I’ve practiced letting go.
I feel the end, the frayed strands.
But the firmness of the thing holds.
Still, no matter where it all went.