I use the words fear, afraid, scared, and terrified way too much. There’s too much in life that I am afraid of: The dentist, the doctor, the eye doctor. I worry that they will tell me something I don’t want to hear: that I have to have a root canal, that my genetic disposition dictates I’ll have cancer somewhere down the line, that I am slowly going blind. I’m afraid of the dark, the unknown and deep water. I am afraid that I will never get married or have babies and will die alone.
I’m making myself available, putting my flaws and vulnerabilities out there, for someone to take. I’m opening up to the idea that someone will see all the shadows in my life, all the mess, the caked mascara and dust. I’m not afraid that it won’t happen. Now that I am trying, I could really care less – take me or leave me, just don’t dick around. I’m not afraid that a potential flame could hurt me; snap my heart in his hands, or judge me.
I am afraid that I’m going to be looking out the corner of my eye, trying to gauge the pulse on someone else’s life. I don’t care so much at this point if he hurts me, but I couldn’t bear to be hurt by you. I’m afraid that I’ll never stop wanting you, that even when I’ve found someone who measures up – he’ll still never be you.