Hanging On. Letting Go.

It’s safe to say that I’m a hopeless romantic. I cry at sappy movies. Heck, I cry at sappy commercials. The Hallmark commercials are the worst…

That’s why it probably doesn’t come as a surprise that I hang on to past relationships with like a child holding onto a balloon. Tightly. In awe. Afraid that the next gust of wind might rip it from my hand.

Granted, I hold on to some relationships harder than others.

Take JB, for example.

I don’t think I’ll ever be able to let go of that string… It’s twisted around my wrist. No, it’s twisted around my heart.

With each memory – like a little gust of wind – the string pulls tighter.

It’s pathetic, really, that I can’t seem to let JB go, to soar upwards, to ride the winds along with the butterflies and birds. To disappear amongst the clouds. To land far away. And tangle that damn string in somebody else’s tree.