The fear that I live with, is my companion.
I say it aloud that I hate the fear. But I share an intimacy with it.
It acknowledges me, it accepts me.
I camouflage, I live with it in a strange comfort but I say to the world that I want to get rid of it. That’s the dishonest me. Hypocrite me.
I am me. I don’t bother if you think I am timid. I pretend that I bother. But I don’t.
You see me afraid and sympathize.
Thanks, but that is okay. It is okay to be afraid, I feel so.
I don’t want to die trying to be perfect, I would be happier to die a happy me.
I find it easier to live with the fears, than trying to part with them.
All they ask for is a small corner in my heart. Until I don’t knock their doors, they stay there put.
After all, I am afraid of some things, not everything.