I don't want to write, yet I do want to. I don't want to write but I do. I don't want to say anything to you, yet it makes me feel more expressed to do so. I don't want your criticism, your critique of my writing, yet I do want something, just a pat on the back, maybe.

I imagine the hot sharp knives that push deep into my gut, my heart. I know that you are just ready to correct me, make me small, so I don't let you in, but I want somebody in here with me, its too scary on my own and I get awful lonely. Human beings were made to interact together, they were made to speak, connect.

My past experiences have lead me not to trust, not to be open, such that now it is hard to be open at all, I speak in whispers to you, behind my eyes. I know that if I give you an inch, you will take a mile. I know that if I breathe out you will breathe in all the air and starve me of oxygen, so I suffocate. How can I be what I was made to be, a belong, if I am too scared to be here, to share, to belong? Where can I be where I am?

In any given moment, the place where I can be where/what I am is always and only here, this moment.

Thankyou.