I hate when I'm right. It's dumb how things work out. It starts out really great, I'm feeling the best I ever have and I tell myself, "This can't last." Time goes on and suddenly the beautiful yarn I once held is a pile of dirty tangles. No matter how hard I try to make it work, no matter how many tangles I work out, I know that I've messed up and there's no way I can get it back. I know that the only way to save it is to give it to somebody else. With gentler hands. Another's. It will be another's. Even while I know this, I can't stop myself from tightening the knot even more. The yarn knows only my hands and makes little effort to stop me. It's my fault. It's all my fault.