ode to fear.

Step out, and smell the air. are my mothers unchangeable answers towards everything.

When I was a young writer, when new syllables rushed through my blood, flushed everything within me, set me raging in search and in quest of a , certain, piece of work always trapped within me, that spoke of all the things I ever dared to love, all the places, and faces, and books, all the cigarettes and undeniable nectar of a strong stale cup of coffe.

When I was so young and nive, when I thought that, perhaps, the world was waiting for the miracle I completely belived I was.

I actually wanted to live.

And around that time I had met my best friend, in 10^th grade or so, she was, well, a vibrant pice of walking energy, and misplaced wisdom. She came from a nice home, and had 'love and 'support' and I thought that when she dared pretend to understand my problems, that she was being a hypocrite.

But I was in love with a girl, who was in love with life, and it terrified my every fiber, and  very core, I wanted to live as well I wanted to explore the human mind, I wanted to write things that people would read someday and say, "well, I couldn’t agree more".

She would come in every morning, my bestfriend, my girl. Who was not really my girl, not yet anyways, but something about her mere presence made life so much better. What she represented to me, the limitless possibilities, happiness being at reach.

I perhaps was quite nive, but I new one thing, I could see it  in my home, in my mothers weary eys, in my fathers motionless figure, slowly becoming a part of the caouch.

Life, was a scary place to be.