With every single word written, all I got back was one or two words.
Maybe that is why I am afraid of letting most words out.
I am afraid of leaving the ground in the thought of the wrong landing.
I am afraid of using the stove because what’s there to boil may burn.
I am afraid of opening the box because what’s inside may not be a surprise.
I am afraid of forgetting things when new memories come to mind.
I am afraid of reopening the space that has been kept for someone else.
I am afraid of letting go the hurt even when it gets to painful.
I am afraid of new beginnings and I am afraid of certain endings.
Does this make me a coward, or does it make me human?