…fear has a way of sounding like Truth. Fear talks in a voice that soothes you, that tells you this won’t work, you can stop being vulnerable, you can find solace within that loneliness you know far too well. Fear will so quickly entice you back into a world you clawed your way out of that you won’t even notice until you’re at the bottom of the same hole you have come to familiarize yourself with. Fear will become a crutch, a best friend, a voice you listen to when you are hopeful and worried and in the sort of euphoria that you think is followed up by pain.
It’s the kind of fear that sneaks up behind you, that positions itself in your mind as well-meaning advice, as grievances that need air, as small complaints that burst into large issues, inner debates about your compatibility, your future, the world before you that you assume you’re missing out on. This fear eats at you and convinces you that this person that lay beside you is your enemy, scheming to ruin you. This fear manifests itself inside your heart and tells you that there’s someone or something better, while dangling this parallel future in front of you, this might-be-better life that you think is on the other side of an eventual heartbreak.
Yet, you and I both know this fear has no truth to it. It’s empty air. And the love that lay beside you in the glow of a morning light is the purity against the desire to give in to fear. And, every time you stay and face down your fear, that voice gets a tiny bit quieter. The moments of rebellion a little less destructive. Soon, you commit fully, surrendering to the fact that you don’t know if this will end in heartbreak, but it’s worth the risk. And, that’s all you need to or can know for now.