I’m afraid.

I’m afraid of the monsters under my bed, and also of the monsters around me. I’m afraid of grotesque faces beneath deceptive masks. I’m afraid of sugary, sweet smiles. I’m afraid of harsh words, too.

I’m afraid of the spaces between the words. I’m afraid of the air people exhale. I’m afraid of unfulfilled voids, but I’m also afraid of careless emotions. I’m afraid of desires, and of not being enough, or being too enough. I’m afraid of fearlessness, of bold moves. I’m afraid of fear itself.

I’m afraid you will come to despise me someday. I’m afraid you’ll turn your face away. I’m afraid you’ll simply walk away. I’m afraid I won’t match up to your expectations. I’m afraid I’m not perfect. I’m afraid of stray dogs, and stray minds. I’m afraid I’ll spill my coffee on my favorite white dress. I’m also afraid I’ll lose my car keys.

Talking of losing, I’m afraid I’ll lose my friends someday. I’m terribly afraid of loneliness, aren’t you, too? I’m afraid of the dark night, though I keep on telling myself that stars are meant for the dark. I’m afraid I’ll be late for an important event. I’m afraid I’ll miss the last bus home. I’m afraid I’ll run out of money, and happiness.

Happiness? I’m afraid I’ll forget what happiness means. I’m afraid I’ll forget faces. I’m also afraid I’ll forget the names of people who mean the most to me. Maybe I’m afraid of life itself.

I’m afraid I’ll be terribly, incurably sick. I’m afraid that I might die young. I’m afraid that a car might hit me down. I’m afraid to die, but I’m afraid to live too.

I’m afraid I’ll hurt myself. I’m afraid I’ll burn my house down. I’m afraid I won’t get rich. I’m afraid I would drown.

I’m afraid of a lot of things, but most of all, I’m afraid of myself, of the person I never was, of the person I might turn out to be.

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