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+<p>It&rsquo;s interesting how your perspective on things shifts as you get older.</p>
+<p>A little while after Valentine&rsquo;s Day this year, I remembered an experience (many
+years ago) when I came across a poem while browsing in a bookshop, just after
+Valentine&rsquo;s Day. I had just endured a very painful and messy break-up of a
+relationship, and my bookshop meandering was an attempt to distract myself for a
+while. I picked up a book of poetry at random (Michèle Roberts&rsquo;
+collection &lsquo;All the selves I was&rsquo;), and opened a page at random. Bam.</p>
+<p>The poem I had opened the book at was &lsquo;poem on St Valentine&rsquo;s Day&rsquo;. My heart
+beat faster. I read the short poem and it was one of those magical moments where
+it felt as if the poet was inside my head, reading my thoughts, and had written
+a poem &mdash; right there on the spot &mdash; especially for me.</p>
+<p>The poem is beautiful but brutal. It describes the aftermath of a break up when
+you have to separate your life from someone else&rsquo;s, and uses surgical imagery to
+evoke the pain and difficulty of this process, unpicking stitches and exposing
+&ldquo;the wound / red and raw to the february wind&rdquo;. The shock of the poem nearly
+brought me to tears on the spot and I (of course) bought a copy of the book.</p>
+<p>Happily, I haven&rsquo;t had to endure that kind of pain for many years, but for some
+reason, I thought of the poem this past Valentine&rsquo;s Day, and read it
+again. I remember the shock of reading it originally, but I found it interesting
+that one particular part of the imagery in the poem has subtly shifted its
+meaning for me in the intervening years.</p>
+<p>At the end of the poem, she writes:</p>
+<blockquote>
+<p>learning to save myself, learning to live <br />
+alone through the long winter nights <br />
+means so much unknotting, unknitting <br />
+unravelling, untying the mother-cord <br />
+&mdash; so much undoing</p>
+</blockquote>
+<p>Over the intervening years, I&rsquo;ve done a lot of metaphorical unknotting and
+unravelling, and plenty of literal unknitting and unpicking too. I&rsquo;ve come to see
+those processes not as failure but as an integral part of the making process.
+Making and unmaking are part of the same thing, and if you want to learn, to
+grow, to experiment, to be bold, you often have to unmake. Yes, it can be
+frustrating or even painful, but it&rsquo;s a good thing. Unmaking and making anew
+almost always results in something better and stronger, and in the process, you
+learn. You just have to be brave, take a deep breath, and get out your seam
+ripper.</p>