tear in the fabric

or so it feels. there's only so long one can ignore, dance around, and pile up sticks to stem a tide creeping up. amazing how *those* conversations, the ones in which you find the right words and express what you wished you could say all along, the ones that make all parties feel better somehow, are often the ones that spell out the end as well. on their heels comes regret, that these truths couldn't have been spoken before so much damage was inflicted.

here i sit, delicately removing clumps of earth tangled in the roots of this living thing dangling from my hands. holding this lovely, broken, expiring thing, clearing away the dirt, wanting to examine the system that both fed and destroyed it. trying to do all of this without overanalyzing.