Letting Go | Sakuatsu Oneshot |

Loosen My Grip

Letting go is easier than holding on.

Holding on takes strength; it takes patience; it takes trust. I don't have the strength or the patience or the trust to be able to keep grasping on to someone else, eventually dragging them down with me until they have to let go.

So it's easier to just

Loosen my grip.

Falling into the water isn't as scary as the thought of pulling someone else down with me. No matter how hard either of us hold on, one of us will have to let go. And I don't want to feel that pang of betrayal when they drop me, watching me fall, seeing their eyes follow me down into the darkness. It's better to know that I had a say in this that I had a choice in this that it was all my fault. That I was the one who let go. Not the one who held on.

So I just

Loosen my grip.

I've gotten use to the feeling of falling. To the feeling of their hand slipping through mine. To the feeling of the wind pushing past me and the feeling of hitting the water's surface. It doesn't hurt anymore. Or rather, I've become accustomed to the pain. So I let myself drop every single time, unafraid of the darkness below me, understanding what I felt and what I'm about to feel. Water's like concrete if you fall onto it from too high above ground, but I was pushed onto the concrete enough times as a child for it to become normal. For all the scrapes and bruises to become badges – proof that I've lived. And that I'll live again.

So I

Loosen my grip.

Falling isn't like flying. Flying is freedom, falling is a cage. But I still let myself get thrown in and locked up, gripping the bars and wondering why I did this to myself. Why I let myself be trapped when the key's right beside me. It's within reach. If I wanted to, I could push it into the lock, turn it and let myself out. Let myself fly. But I tell myself repeatedly, it's safer in here, it's protected, no-one outside can touch you, you're safe. And I believe it. I believe my own lies. I can leave this endless loop I've put myself in, but I don't. Because I think I'm safe. So I trap myself in this cage and I let myself believe I can't get hurt and I let myself fall.

I

Loosen my grip.

I'm hanging off the edge of the cliff, my hand in theirs, both of us struggling to hold on. They're eyes are wide with despair. I simply smile. They can't save me now, I'm too far gone – I'm already slipping, about to fall. They're not strong enough and I'm too heavy; just a ball on their ankle, pulling them under the water until they drown. So that's why I have to let go. They'll scream and shout, begging me to hold on, but words aren't strong enough. Words can't lift me up and onto solid ground. But they continue spilling words, they continue holding on, but they don't pull me up.

I'm just left hanging over the water, hearing things like

"DON'T LOOSEN YOUR GRIP."

Words.

More words.

"DON'T LET GO."

Words can't heal wounds.

Words can't save lives.

"HOLD ON TIGHTER."

Do this do that don't do this don't do that.

When will they ever say 'I won't let go'.

But no matter what, it's just words.