The String Theory

I was calling my Dad and it was late.
It was late, and I was calling my Dad for advice.
A complex mixture of sensitivity and abrasive strength,
he would know what to do.
What to do, with me and with you.
I made a mess.
I made a mess again and I couldn't see his face in mine.
Not in all the mirror-edged shatters left on the floor.
Standing in the middle bare-foot and trying not to get cut,
I called and he answered.
"Hey, Baby." He said.
Baby, he calls me that when I need it...
and I always need it.
I told him a story.
A story about a girl and about a boy.
I told him how the girl gave the boy her face,
the one her Daddy gave to her.
I told him how the boy dropped the face on the ground
and broke it all to pieces.
I told him how I couldn't see myself in it anymore.
He listened quietly and then gave me all the wisdom,
he could afford.
"Relationships are like string." he said.
"They all start out new and strait, and then they start to get knotted
up and tangled."
"At that point, you have a decision to make."
"There are only two options."
"You either sit down and untangle the string you have,
or you throw it away. And go get some new string."