I Hung the Empty Frames on my Wall

I’m alternatively scared and relieved.

I’m afraid of backsliding and I’m afraid of suburban convenience.  But I’m also afraid of living my whole life in fear.  I’m afraid of avoiding mistakes.  I’m afraid of riskless living.

Every word has a million miles of past attached to it.  And a web of hypothetical futures.

Every label has a terrifying story.  A flashlight under your chin sitting around the campfire terrifying story.  And each label takes its turn with the battery powered torch, whispering words that keep me up at night, scared of the monsters not under, but in my bed.

And each fork in the road offers a chance to strike out again.  A chance to keep moving.  A chance to walk, even if I’m walking alone.

Tears wash my dusty face.

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