-Katherine Gotthardt I am thinking of my last mistake. Not the previous one. The one that will do me in. The one that will cut through pieces of my life like a butcher on amphetamines. Uncareful. Uncaring. Unbelievable. I read the story of the poor man who got pulled onto train tracks by a dog leash, car doors closing, dog safe inside, he still on the platform. And then not. Gutted by the morning commute. He simply didn’t let go in time. That I think will be my error, my final metaphor, my abject refusal to relinquish something – or someone – I hold onto too dearly, phenomenon beyond just stubbornness, a constant second guessing, reluctance to trust the first guess. More akin to terror of mistepping, of moving too quickly. Like not running from knives in the hands of the splinter-minded. Or dropping ties that pull too close to death. There is an art to letting things end. I have not learned it yet.
Mistake
Mistake
Mistake
-Katherine Gotthardt I am thinking of my last mistake. Not the previous one. The one that will do me in. The one that will cut through pieces of my life like a butcher on amphetamines. Uncareful. Uncaring. Unbelievable. I read the story of the poor man who got pulled onto train tracks by a dog leash, car doors closing, dog safe inside, he still on the platform. And then not. Gutted by the morning commute. He simply didn’t let go in time. That I think will be my error, my final metaphor, my abject refusal to relinquish something – or someone – I hold onto too dearly, phenomenon beyond just stubbornness, a constant second guessing, reluctance to trust the first guess. More akin to terror of mistepping, of moving too quickly. Like not running from knives in the hands of the splinter-minded. Or dropping ties that pull too close to death. There is an art to letting things end. I have not learned it yet.