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Afraid #fiveminutefriday

Five Minute Friday

Fear, a driving factor.  The crawl at the back of your neck, the noise in the dark, the insecurities buried deep in your core.  And yet, it’s a basic question.  “What are you afraid of?”  I respond casually, clowns, crickets, ventriloquist dummies, mimes, and needles.  As if that’s the end.  I leave out failing, disappointing, not being enough as if they don’t exist.  I sweep them under the rug of my subconscious, forget they exist until I’m faced with them.  I’m afraid I won’t be a good enough mother, a good enough writer, a good enough daughter.  I’m afraid my lists of disappointments will run off the pages and that the people I love will see them, and be convinced that I’m unworthy.

 

But we don’t talk about that.  It’s written on the in between.  Instead we laugh and try to forget those nagging fears, replace them with big ones.  What if I lost you?  What would my life be like if you weren’t around.  I’m afraid of terrible inevitability, of losing the ones I love in death.  Age unravels us, and before we can catch a breath and look up beyond ourselves they’ll be gone.  My grandfather has cancer.  It’s just a matter of time.  It twists like a knife, I’m afraid of life without him.

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Dive #fiveminutefriday

Breathe.

I can’t remember the last time we spoke.  I can’t remember the curl of your smile, or the sound of your laugh.  When do friends dissolve into acquaintances?  What is the process, what makes an ending?

Step.

Inseparable.  That was our mantra.  It seems funny now, looking back.  So naive.  We were only children then, children holding onto the endless sticky summers and the short days of winter, wrapped in our cloaks, gripping our pencils like sonic screwdrivers.

Jump.

You can’t change the past. Can’t redo the things you’ve done wrong.  I think about it as I’m drifting to sleep, the things I’d do right.  I’m sorry for the way I spoke, for the turn of my hand, for the tilt of my head, for the dissolution of our friendship.  I’m sorry for my part in the drifting, in the ending.

Dive.

It’s evolution.  It’s the natural order of things.  We grow up.  We leave our childhoods behind.  And it’s okay- it has to be.  We grow older with the memories of who we used to be, of where we came from.  You’re where I came from.  You helped shape who I am.  And even as we grow old and forgetful there will always be a piece of me where you are.

Five Minute Friday

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