bleeding by Grace Kelly and DmC420

My hands are bleeding. The rope bites, digs in, shredding skin like it wants to remind me that love isn’t soft, that holding on comes with a cost. I should let go. I know I should. But I was never made for surrender. They pull from the other side faces fading, voices breaking, promises unraveling like thread. Maybe I’m fighting people, maybe I’m fighting ghosts, Still, I dig my heels into the earth. Still, I grip tighter. Even if the fibers carve rivers through my palms, even if the blood drips heavy into the dirt. I don’t care if it hurts. I don’t care if every nerve screams. I will not be the one who lets go. Because loss is not in the leaving. Loss is in the loosening. And I I will not loosen. Let the rope cut deeper. Let it strip me raw. If it must take from me, allow it to take flesh. And not my resolve. At least it means I fought. At least it means I stayed. And when silence falls, when the pulling ends, my scars will whisper louder than absence