Undoing Knots

I followed the thread to the end.

Or I tried.

Mom told me to stop pulling,

"it'll just get more tangled!"

but when I pulled before,

it all came free.

I remember that.

I was the only one left.

Everyone got tired but I stayed and I pulled and pulled and it all came free.

No one was there, though.

No one got to see the moment it happened.

I remember that.

I was ten.

But I was just the little, weak girl and too stubborn for my own good.

I celebrated on my own that day.

From then on, I noticed a pattern begin to emerge.

Where most would give up, I stayed.

Nights turning to sunrises with no sleep in between,

cracking codes,

picking locks,

waiting for epiphanies when everyone was sleeping.

And if I got them I looked up.

At no one.

They were all sleeping, or gone far away.

So celebration burned holes in my stomach where shame used to live.

But I was too stubborn for my own good.

...when the victories felt empty, where did the stubborn girl go?

And how could she be friends with the nighttime anymore?

It'll just get more tangled.

Well, did you always want me to quit!?

Maybe I needed that then.

Maybe I only need it now.

Learning to quit when the lights go out.

Is willfulness a strength or a symptom of misguidedness?

Where is the antidote to apathy?

Maybe it's silly to pretend it exists.

Maybe someone was right.

Maybe everyone is wrong.

My fingers are too weak to undo the knots.

Time to quit, anyway.