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I am paralyzed by fear.
The opportunities come and go, the communities, the connectivity. Every time I stand still and wave goodbye as it passes. Never moving, never wavering, always just still.
Maybe, when a little ounce of courage makes its way past that knot in my throat, I will call out. My fingertips will graze it. I wonder why my feet are still planted. (Always wonder, never act)
It’s like fire, sometimes they’re the fire, sometimes I am. Scary and enticing at the same time. And when I touch it, it’ll be warm for a minute, then everything lights up. It seems too good to be true. (It usually is) But then you (I, we) catch on fire. And we burn and burn and burn.
The fire scares me. Makes me go running with my tail between my legs. I wish I could find and hold onto that thread that says “we are here! We are here and we exist at the same time together! I may not have much but I have you and I have you for a reason!” But I put out the sparks. What could've ever illuminated it is lost. (I don't care to find it)
And there is a weight to this paralyzation. Like a hand on my throat, or a riptide current. With it, I feel like I am back at that old mobile home right before the snow made the roof cave in. I know it’s too much weight, I know this home is worn and weathered, and I’m just wondering if this is the winter that will be too much to handle, and waiting for it to collapse.
Sometimes I’ll scream it. “I’m scared! I’m scared! I’m scared! And I’m sorry!”
No one ever hears. I lit the forest on fire around my home, I didn’t think it’d be burning forever.
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