I am afraid of being. I'm afraid to walk into a room and see people staring. When I talk, I'm afraid that I won't have control over what I'm saying. I'm afraid of being embarrassing. I'm afraid of looking at someone and I'm afraid of smiling. I'm afraid of touching, and kissing and all levels of intimacy. I'm afraid of loving and I'm afraid of being alone. I'm afraid of pushing people away, even though there's not many anyway. I'm afraid that when I look at someone amazing I'll fall madly in love and I'm afraid of anything changing. I'm afraid that no one cares or that I care too much or not enough. I'm afraid of always being sad and I'm afraid of never knowing how good it can be. I'm afraid of going to sleep, and I'm afraid of dreaming. I'm afraid that people aren't exactly what they seem. I'm afraid of choking, or drinking entirely. I'm afraid of dying. I'm afraid of what makes me happy more than what makes me upset. I'm afraid of getting angry, and afraid of being lazy. I'm afraid that I'm not perfect and I'm afraid that I'm stupid. I'm afraid no one will love me, and I'm afraid of being ugly. I'm afraid of laughing. I'm afraid of living.

There is an emptiness, a void, a space. A place in side of my chest, between my heart and rib cage. I have a painful blackness where maybe a piece of my soul should be, maybe it’s missing. I have to strangle myself, or press the bible to my body to make the throbbing stop. I have to re-learn what it means to feel, how to be, and how to be loved. Because when I close my eyes I only remember that I was biting my lip and sitting on my knees behind a garbage can with some man standing up in front of me. When I look around, the arms covered in ink and the hands that smell like nicotine just seem so appetizing. Oh, but that was the only way to feel something, and I could still be something if I hadn’t lied about going to the library and smoked half a pack of cigarettes because I was so nervous. I would have smoked more if it weren’t raining. I even walked through the allies because what’s the worst that can happen? I just sold my soul. I didn’t even ask for money.

I may have made a mistake when I fell in love. Your life is perfect and it’s filled with perfect mountains and forests and the grass grows tall and the rain lasts so long and the sound gives you perfect dreams. You are like the trees. Unbearably defying gravity no matter how the wind blows on your limbs, your leaves never let go. I aspire to live that way. My arms lick at the sky, and I shut my eyes because it’s too bright. I try to reach for something, and black reaches back for me. My hands are filled with ash. I’ve tried too hard for too long. Like the harder I push, the bigger the disaster. And the wind only makes it faster. I’m out of control, I’ve lost all meaning. Maybe I was light to you, maybe I was nothing. Maybe you could never love me. Maybe I’ll ruin everything. I must be a monster, because of how people look afraid and I’m afraid I’ve overstayed my welcome. I can leave quietly, I can stop breathing. I’ll do this for you, or so it would seam. I’m nothing more than Aberdeen. I may have left a few scars on stones and water turned to steam.
Because I am like fire, and you like the trees.