Like a shadow passing over me. Quick, brief, dark. Other times, like a well. Deep, hidden, cold.
Like incessant whisperings beside my ear, like a sinking anchor, tugging at the bottom of my heart.
Afraid that I will only be a mere shadow of what once was. Afraid that I may not even cast a shadow once I’ve passed. I’m afraid of the dark. I’m afraid of being swallowed up, by the dark, by your past, by the world, by my future. I’m afraid of myself, that I will never ever be enough. I am afraid that time will only show me how I crumble into dust.
It makes me laugh, how afraid I am. I wonder if it’s the nervous kind of laughter that makes everyone in the room uncomfortable. Or does it mean I win, or that I’ve given up, or I just have a sense of humor?
(What’s the next step after accepting your fears? It’s supposed to be confrontation, I think, but I really am petrified when it comes to the things I’m afraid of, just like I’m supposed to be.)
Is it fight or flight?
(But I’m no fighter.) But flight just seems cowardly, and I wouldn’t even know in which direction to run when my fears are all inside of me.
I want to embrace my fears and make them my friends. I want to be brave.