Fear

 

I do not fear insects, neither do I fear clowns 

I do not fear enclosed spaces nor do I fear crowded places

I do not fear mice, neither do I fear snakes

What I fear most may be peculiar to many. A bit strange you may say.

But to me, it's a genuine fear, a fear that keeps me awake at night.

I fear a life unlived

I fear waking up in the morning and wishing I didn't

I fear looking at the sun rising and setting and feeling absolutely nothing

I fear listening to my favorite playlist and not humming to the tune of the songs

I fear not smiling when I see kids in their cute tiny clothes running around causing havoc

I fear watching it rain and not feeling a chill on my spine and the sudden urge to jump back in bed

I fear not feeling the calmness of night drives or the adrenaline rush of ziplining

I fear not dancing anymore to my roommate's odd songs 

I fear not hating oats and not loving ice cream

I fear not enjoying evening walks or looking at the stars at night and wish for peace.

I fear reading my favorite novel and not laughing whenever Adeline doesn't quite understand Eliza's sarcastic comments or my heart not sinking when Sam's death is announced to Eliza or when Cassandra comes to know that her past has been buried in the beautiful forgotten garden for almost 80 years.

I fear reading the book and not thinking there must have been so much more to Rose Mountrachet than her friendship with Eliza Makepeace, her devotion to her mother, and her love for Nathaniel Walker.

But above all this, I fear that this may not just be a blog but a glimpse of what is to come.

That one day I will wake up and prefer tea to coffee 

or that I will stop feeling Emily Dickinson's poems so deeply.

I fear that I will not notice this change.

It will come ever so stealthy on a bright Sunday evening and integrate seamlessly into my life. 

And on the next rainy Monday morning, the sound of rain on my window will sicken me. I will decide to put on a green pair of stilettos rather than my black ballet shoes. I will have oats for breakfast. I will listen to jazz on my way to school and not Dolly Parton's Coat of Many colors.

And soon enough, I won't be able to notice the flowers handed to me by dear old Mr. Change because of his previous betrayal. He knew I dreaded his visit, knew I wanted nothing to do with him but he still showed up. Not once or twice but a hundred painful visits. The knives on my back will cloud my eyes and prevent me from noticing the unique silhouette of the roses and the rich yellow color of the sunflowers.

I do not fear trolls nor do I fear the monsters under my bed

I fear staring at the mirror and not noticing the changed girl staring back.

I fear change.