A string is not angular. There are no sharp turns gutted ahead. The jagged realization that change might happen abruptly is not an instance worth acknowledging. It never happens.
Instead a string bends and curves to the imagination. It waltzes from a guitar or a violin with a sound so precise that it doesn’t matter if it’s out of tune. A missed note is par for the course and when you find yourself scaling a wall for the comfort of definition – there is none. Only the faint confidence that things keep going.
When a string ends, it does not start back up again, shifting to a different position. It is done with, cut dry, with little frays of possibility crisping at the edges.