the string around my little finger
reminds me that it is possible to fix me
reminds me that i should not try to fix you
i tie it every night before i go to sleep
every morning, it is gone
i can’t find a trace of you
except in the pinkish, purplish
imprint where the string should be
glb /// “the string”
going sideways 
Maybe it’s a book? “How I carry loss in my life with bipolar disorder”. Just a thought, it sets one up to understand the volume of words you have written on the loss of love. Hmm, just tossing out ideas. Love ya, B
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It’s powerful how it can be fresh and new enough to write such depth around love and loss Gavin. I assume it can be like a ball and chain pulling you down. But together it may tell another story for you and the reader?B ♥️
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