Letting go is what you do when you can't hold on anymore. As if your hands are trying to grasp a grease-covered rope, a smooth-furred cat, or a friendship long past, slowly fading into the mist like a dream upon awaking. Letting go isn't something you always want to do, and sometimes you grasp and flail and try to find some piece of what was there, but it's gone. You try to figure out how it slipped away, and why you didn't handcuff yourselves together when you could see clearly that you were standing side by side. Other times you don't try to hold on. Other times, you see the thing you love walk away, down a long path, waving, or just going slowly, hands in pockets, down a trail that eventually ends in mist. Usually, when you watch them go, you realize what's happening a little too late and you try to chase after them, to call into the mist and search and search, but you come out on the other side and find yourself alone. Maybe you have a number that you'll never call, or an address you'll never write to, because you let it slip away. Sometimes, you think about it, and you realize that maybe you could hold on, maybe you could struggle to find a foothold or a place where the rope comes unwound, and you could keep this thing if you both really tried. But you don't, because it would be so painful, and because deep down you believe that one day you'll be left alone, and all your pain and hardship will be for nothing. It's usually worth it, but you usually let it go because you don't realize how much it's worth until it's so far away that you can never catch up and tell her that you wish you had clasped hands and never said goodbye. And then maybe, every once in a while, for the rest of your life, you think about her, and you realize, that was good, that was real, that was worth saving, and aren't I an idiot. And all you wish at that moment is that you could say you're sorry and make it all better. But you won't, because now the rope has torn, and trying to pull back on it will only rip it entirely in two. So you don't, and you put away the pictures, the letters, and the memories, for another rainy day and hope that it doesn't happen again. It will; but you'll try.