Habits Are Hard to Break, Hopes Even Harder

My knuckles are white because I'm afraid to let go.
The pain is becoming searing-I can't hear you because
my attention is never good when it's divided.
My stomach aches to be let free and
my mind knows it's dangerous because the
longer my fingers stay this way, the harder it will be
to help them uncurl, one aching digit at a time
but my heart?
it's the stubbornest thing.
It can't ignore the chasm opening up-
the rejection of a way of life inside my head
that I won't know how to live without
for a good, long while.
My mind says let go and my heart says
i don't want to so I say
fine. We've got to take the hard road.
I'm suspicious that what's happened so far is just the beginning
of pain so palpable I cower in denial.
I'm sorry, but
I love you, but
at this point it's not worth it.
I'm bracing for the falling,
I'm willing to force my fingers
through the sore truth until
the pain from clinging to the question marks is all but forgotten
in the glory of the absolute present existence.