“Love is what we are born with,
Fear is what we have learned”
Fear, that is all there is to it. An all encompassing fear. Fear that the mind rules the heart more than it should. Fear of love that makes you cut pieces of yourself to fit their ideal, fear of never belonging, never being accepted. Fear of change, fear of uncertainty.
All the inane little fears like sudden jump scares, when somebody gets injured in front of my eyes, the way speed makes me clench my jaw and renders me immobile, a stranger standing too close. Fear of telling him that his eyes haunt my dreams and getting it dismissed like it means nothing. Fear of this mind, the way it shuts off, the way in a fight-flight situation, it freezes.
Fear forcing me to hold on tight, same fear making me let go. Fear of his pretty eyes following my every movement as I trip and fall all over the place, so I try to divert myself by focusing on what to do with my hands. Fear that someone will read my personal journal and consider me downright psychotic. Fear of vicious people who only sap my energy, make me feel terrible about my flaws and always keep weighing me on their broken moral scale.
Fear of hurting someone I really love, seeing them break down because of me and putting that all too familiar pain in their eyes. Don’t we say, “How can you hurt someone you are supposedly in love with ever? Don’t you heal in love?” That fear whenever I see a cute crawly drowning in a puddle, moving me to save the little guy, drying it out in the sun and sending it off on its merry, adventurous way.
Fear for my favorite asshole character when some misfortune befalls him or he doesn’t get his girl. Fear of getting attached because untangling myself rips me open and makes me extremely vulnerable. Fear of being too transparent, with each and every emotion etched on my face. Fear of never finding him, never getting to feel him, never hearing his laugh, never getting a chapter in his life. Fear of tearing him out of mine.
Fear of silence growing louder when I don’t want to be alone. Fear of gas cylinder blowing the roof straight off my head, fear of finding my favorite Goosebumps series eaten by moths or torn to pieces. Fear of lending a book, never to get it back. Fearing my mum, if she finds out that I am not drinking hot milk, skipping my meds when I catch a bug and staying up way too late writing this in the bitter cold, occasionally staring at the dark horizon till I fall asleep, all my winter thrills in one.