I gently untwist the knots, the knots which I have tied over years and years of necessity.
Each is twisted so uniquely that as it loosens, liquid crimson drops decorate my shoes and I glance at those fingers–the same ones that tied these knots in such a hurry with such childlike sparkly energy bouncing through them and I know.
I know because this is not the first knot I’ve tied, nor will it be the first I’ve had to loosen—
I know those crimson drops, though flowing fast like rapids right now–they too heal and inevitably I will find another unique knot to tie—
But I hope…
I hope next time I tie a knot that I can pull it apart gently with ease, leaving the rope whole.
