I’ll be a subtle liar if i told you that i am fine and not scared, that the redness of my eye is due to stress and not tears.
I’ll be an awful liar if i told you that i’ve been strong and i slammed the door in the face of the little doubt that knocked a while back.
I’ll be a terrible liar if i said i didn’t stare too long at my fear, as visible as the holes carved on my collar bones.
Tears, cheap. Shed for every reason unknown yet known. It’s fear, as tangible as the clothe on my skin.
It’s regret for every time I didn’t look out for myself, for every time I went out of my way to be nice because “love was leading”. Anger, for every time I didn’t stand up for myself and sudden realization, for every minute underutilized.
I have cried, with un-uttered words choking the breath out of me. Created weird sounds that seemed to be the product of an invisible battle. Told myself to be blind to this fear and see the light in your word.
I would be lying if i said i don’t feel fear but “because You’re with me, I would not fear”.
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