I fear the things my heart chases because they might not be good for me.
I fear the things my body chases because they might kill me.
I fear the things my mind chases because I might lose my will to feel.
I might be afraid of the fear that surrounds me suddenly like an ocean.
Or even like a prisoner in a tightly wound rope in a dingy cell.

I fear the words I write right now
for they might define me.
What if I was the wind?
What if I changed?
How dare my words become my only identity?
I am more. I am more.

Yet, I am so little. So small. So insignificant. A speck, a drop, a freckle, an atom, a cog in the wheel.

I am alone. But, I am not the only one.