I’m afraid of dying. I’m afraid for the loved ones I will leave behind who will do everything in their power to continue with life as it is. How they will unsee my presence and walk over fractions of my identity like they do not see me in them. I’m afraid they will forget. I’m afraid that the future will find ways to erase my legacy, ways to replace me. I’m afraid of disappearing and people not noticing.
Im afraid of the truth, the unravelling knowing of something I had never thought to be buried in peoples tongues, I fear the graves the truth digs out of their mouths. How it presents itself as an ugly rotten corpse ready for you to dance with, dine with, perhaps exchange lost should haves and could haves over lukewarm tea and dry stale biscuits.How it will demand that you undress yourself before its unpleasantness. I’m afraid of meeting that kind of knowing.
I’m afraid of choosing a favourite colour, the alienation and disapproval of the rest of the spectrum is one I do not wish to be imposed on even myself. I’m afraid to claim things for my own,of to holding on too tight. How the universe will reveal plenty other shades of what you thought was the ultimate one. How that uncertainty will wrench and wring and wrap you up in a blur. I’m afraid of that kind of misdirection, that kind of discontinued state.
I’m afraid of pedestals. The expectation of them is a dream where I am constantly falling and I never reach the bottom. The expectation of pedestals is suffocating. The air is too thick up there, it is hard to breath in the midst of presumed aspiration. I fear for the days when i wake up burdened by dormant dreams on my shoulders from last nights massacre. How do I climb up to the mountain peak then? I’m afraid of the hope that will be in peoples eyes. How they will believe with every vein in their bodies that you cannot belong anywhere but on that pedestal. I’m afraid of the fire beneath my feet when I get there. Of the overwhelming responsibility to stay there.
I’m afraid of heights. I’m afraid that if set free, how quick I would be to jump. I’m afraid of the relentless urge to leave this body in me. I’m afraid to visit the innocence of the place that birthed such desires. I’m afraid I will try to convince myself that I was too naive or that its not worth it, or that there are other ways to find that liberation. I’m afraid that i will find out that it is the closest i will ever get to being one with the air. I’m afraid that i will enjoy feeling my body evaporate.
I’m afraid that there is still plenty I am afraid of even daring to utter. I’m afraid of the weight I give to my fears. I’m afraid I have already opened up some of the doors to these dungeons by even acknowledging them. I’m afraid to close my eyes, but even more that when open how often fear presents itself to me.
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