What good is the red string that binds us if it’s invisible?

I can see them but they get dull and old as they fade away.

I wonder if the people they are connected to still see them at all.

I can’t help but ruminate on the lingering feelings that I still have.

And when one thing leads to another,

They fill me to the point where there’s no where to go

Except out and down my cheeks.

Some strings have been severed not by me.

All I can do is look down and hold the remnants of the frayed dull edges through watery eyes.

Why is it so hard to just untie it from myself

And bury it in the cruel grey world,

Walk away and never look back?