I have the fear.
I know that I have many years ahead of me. I know I'm not supposed to, or expected to have everything together by now. Hell, who says you ever have to have it together. Who cares.
But I want to. I see the world around me in so many bright, brilliant, blinding colours and all I can feel is the wind ripping at my face as it all zooms past me at a million miles per hour.
I'm not discrediting what I've achieved. I know these things, it's important to know and celebrate these things. But in the quiet hours I spend socialising with my dark bedroom ceiling , I yearn for something to feed my soul.
I haven't written here in ages. I'd forgotten how nice it is. Therapeutic. I love writing. I love telling stories. I want to tell stories. I want to tell them with words on a page, with my voice down a microphone, with my body on a stage and with my heart and my mind and my soul. I want to give it all. I live to wear my bleeding heart on my sleeve, with 23 almost 24 years of bloodstains splattered across the pages of my life, imprinted on my skin. So many stories written in shiny white lines all over by body. And so many more warming my flesh through the red ink in my veins. I am because I feel. And I want to make other people feel.
But how?
I'm only human. And I have the fear.
I need a venture that I can throw myself into that I can connect with people, that I can create stories and characters and whole worlds and take people away from the horror of reality for even just a minute and immerse them in my entirely made up world.
I guess, really I just never grew up.
But who wants to do that anyway?
Photo credit: Haris Nukem
