​My fears, they come in the form of men with crooked smiles and dimpled cheeks. They come in the form of a half-grown beard on a boyish face. They come to me, snatching my poor attention span, in conversations.
My fears, they come in the form of gratitude, in not knowing what to say next. They come, hounding, pounding, at my heartbeats that grow fainter, and worries that grow louder. They come in the form of people who love and let love.
My fears, they crawl up to me at the devil’s hour when I can’t fall asleep. They come at their own rhythm, and leave at their slowest pace. They come to me at 11:11 when I desperately wish to wish for something I long but I can’t.
My fears, they come to me when no one’s watching. They come to me in the form of half-eaten pretzels and tables for two half unoccupied. They come to me in the stink of stale cigarettes and in the two-thousand rupee notes I wish I had and in the people I felt I owned.
My fears, they come to me during the day, at night and mostly, mostly when I think I’m not afraid anymore.

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