Dear After Me,
It’s too late to be blogging, nearly 2:00. Besides, who knows if this will even live to see the light of day, this sudden inspiration, this sudden break from fear. Because honestly, that’s what’s holding me back. Fear.
It’s sweet but acrid, like eating something delicious only to find that it leaves a taste in your mouth that you can’t stand. Fear is safety, fear is… knowing that if you don’t jump, you won’t fall. If you don’t say something, your face won’t burn with embarrassment, and, most importantly, if you don’t bare your insecurities, you won’t have to deny them later. That’s fear.
But fear is also regret, knowing that you’ll never see the top of the hill, you’ll never get to express your opinion, and you’ll never feel clean.
I’ve been cleaning lately. Not my room, though it certainly needs it, no, I’ve been cleaning my emotional closet. There’s just one thing I can’t get at, too far to reach on tippy toes, too far away to reach. And I need to reach it, badly. Because, even though I love this old shirt, love the way it fits, the way it makes me feel, and the way I can always pull it out, it’s old and raggedy. It’s worn and degrading. I deserve better. It’s time for a new one. It had it’s chances, more chances than I’ve ever given anything. And, surprise of surprises, end’s means didn’t pan out.
Metaphors aside, I’ll stay metaphorical. If I were going to call this anything, I’d call this the end of an era. A depressing, disappointing, informative, wonderful, day-dream era. It’s been sweet but acrid. I will miss it, I will miss all of it. Still, I think the person I’m becoming won’t miss it, ever.
K.
