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The fear, the fear, that festering, unfathomable fear.

That I’m alone in this. That I’m adrift with neither reed nor rock to anchor me.

That fear sits in the pit of my stomach beneath kind words and good intentions,

Beneath a heart that beats slow and strong and lungs that breathe deep and long.

The fear, it rests there.

And it’s kindled by words unsaid, by the breaths and the pauses in between.

I feel too much in those spaces, am overwhelmed by the murmurs and their meanings.

“You’re ridiculous,” it says. “You ask too much from this life.”

And then I not only listen, but I believe it.

I carry it in my throat and let it keep me quiet.

I bend for it, I cry and I compromise.

And that fear, it grows. It spreads like a cancer from my throat out to my heart and mind.

And I become someone else. Someone who hides. Someone who hurts.

But then in the distance a whisper winds itself up into a whistle.

A slow and steady rain builds up to a storm and I can just make out the words.

“Oh no, my love,” it says. “You ask far too little.”

And there’s something about that I understand. There’s something that sounds so right.

A chord is struck and I look up.

And a wave of innocence drenches me in light.

Forgiven, I sigh. Forgiven, I smile. Forgiven, I give thanks for Sight.

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