Lets talk a little bit shall we, we're always running about missing each other. The moments in which we are not stepping into a different reality is moments when instead of sleeping, our restless thoughts clash into one another in a maddening silence. What can I do? I do not know. I'm scared of the past that follows, I'm scared of the present I live in and the future I'll borrow from my head at the dead of night.

I'm scared of my actions, my existence. I'm scared there's nothing I'm able to do. Whether it is to solve simple riddles or to reach out to someone through my words. A wave follows me and I keep running, with excuses to say I missed the wind in my hair. Not that the crashing weight of the wave would erase me

I can't do anything is what I tell myself. Yet like the ending of any beautifully written poem or story, at the break of dawn I pick my myself again

But this is not a story

This is my life, which I can't polish into a story you'd like to hear

Cause with each dawn passing, comes an unfamiliar night, and I return to the place of fear once again. The promises of certainty and hope gone yet again for another day, until the time they leisurely stop by my door. To their fancy, regardless of my sitting longing at the steps.

I'm not scared of the world, for it's not unfair. It's just how it is. Rather, I fear being a mistuned beat, unfitting to the harmony of the way this world will flow.

I fear of the life I'd be bound to live

And more importantly, what would happen of my heart then

If I'd even carry one