Self sabotage

Strangely, I have been afraid of my own words.

I am afraid of what they might do.

What if they do good?

And what if they really do good, and I don’t know what to do with that good?

What if what is good is worse than what is bad?

What if this good, which I have never known, never visited, never experienced, does not exist?

And what if, by chance, it does exist, but I have made it bad only because that is all I know?

What lives beyond the fence of fear?

Will my courage be greater to cross it, or will I make it even higher so that I cannot even glimpse the other side?

I don't know what is stronger: a feeling transformed into words or a feeling that cannot be transformed into anything.

Maybe that is where art is born. It is the exiled feeling that now returns home in one way or another.

Art and tears are the same thing. Purification, cleansing.

Every time a feeling is locked away, it grows, and with no place left to go, close to imploding, it comes out in the form of tears because there was too much of it.

It is osmosis, the difference in concentration between sides.

Oh, so you are afraid of your words because they are imploded feelings?

No, I am not afraid of their implosions but of their explosions.

I am not afraid of their nature; I am afraid of their potential.

What if they make me so happy that I am unable to recognize happiness, and therefore I would have to admit to myself that I am sad and that if I am sad, it is only because I prefer to be?

Because it is all I know.

It is all I know about myself.

What lies beyond the borders of my false identity?

The one I created, but after creating it, I recognized myself as not its creator.

I thought I was the creation; I forgot that I was the one who created it.

And what if I could recreate it? Recreate it in a way that it would know that I exist and that I was the one who built it?

Then, I would recreate it so that it could see me so that it could see everything I am and everything I have, so that it could see that it is part of me, and finally, that we are one.

Maybe then it would see that I am just the other side of the fence of fear, the difference in solute concentration from the inside out.

Maybe then it would see that I am everything it has never known, never visited, never experienced. I am only those lands it has not yet set foot on because it has not had time to walk through all our territory, which is immense.

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