They say they fear death.
They fear sharks with their pointed noses and gnashing teeth,
household pests and crashing markets,
losing everything they’ve worked so hard to become.
They fear myths and witches, dark fantasies, their childhood villains chasing after them
The stillness of the night, standing on top of the world,
letting themselves be loved endlessly and naively,
vulnerable in the arms of those who’ll never let them go.

I am not afraid of any of these things; I am only afraid of being alone.

I am afraid of being left to fend for myself,
to reach for a hand that isn’t there to hold mine,
I am afraid of crying on my own shoulder, patting myself on the back
I am afraid to wake up and go through the hours--
missing the face on the pillow to the right of mine.
I am afraid of jumping into the vast enormity,
without someone clenching my hand,
hoping that we could remember it together.

Longing, holding invisible arms.
A silver tear of memories running down my cheek, forgotten and vulnerable.
Line disconnected, a ticking clock increasingly aware of time passing by.
I am not afraid of being by myself, I very much prefer it.
I am afraid of being alone, and
every day is a battle.