Some of them are as small as dental floss.
Some as thick and large as the ropes that hold the sails of a ship in place.
One by one.
Each change is a cut string.
And you feel yourself move, because those were your strings.
Some of them were cut at your own hands, but most of them are cut when you least expected it, by forces seen and unseen. You try to ignore each snip beyond your control, and do this life thing.
But the tether is gone.
You are lifted off the ground.
Flying off to freedom. Like a butterfly emerging from a cocoon, or a bird finally leaving the nest, or Iron Man putting on a new suit. Purposeful. Making decisions. Reaching goals.
The tether is gone, and you are lifted off the ground.
Floating away uncontrollably. Like a half-inflated balloon, aiming towards heaven, but getting tangled in the power lines. Like a leaf that thinks it will fly, but finds this short flight is really only a fall. Like a plastic bag on the highway. Floating. Almost flying. Getting hit by car after car. Tearing apart. Never quite able to make it to the other side of the road.
The fear firmly in place, you try to tie those ropes and strings back together.
Is a chance at flying enough to risk a fall?
Is there even a choice?
Those strings have been cut.
They will never be strong again, tethering you to what you know.
Change is here.
Or the fall.