My Lifeline

My fingers clumsily tread the keyboard. Foreign and out of place. It's been a long time since I let my fingers do the talking of my heart. Traces of fear linger. Fear that somebody might be offended. Fear that what I say will be misunderstood as weakness.

This is my life
It's about time I personalised it


My fingers scream from the cuts
Of holding on too dearly
My lifeline used to be a single strong Cord
Unbreakable
As the seasons changed
My cord got thicker and thicker
Lined with perishables
Though thick, it was weak
My hands grew smaller
Among the mass of tangled priorities
My grip weakened
Slipping
The cords were just too many for me to hold
Insecure
Still holding on so tight
A knife had to cut the weaker cords
As it weaved through the air
I cried as I saw one by one
The unimportant chords drop
Those were dear to me
Yet not as important
By the time it was over
Only a few strands were left in my hand
The few major lifelines I had started out initially
I looked at my hands
I saw the scar of the cuts
The cuts from holding on dearly
To the one Cord
Now I remember so clearly
The passion
The desire
The fire
It's about time for ignition
Somehow
The scarred hand seem to grip the cords perfectly
The groove left by the scars
Carefully enveloped each cord
Now I understand