the fear of not burning

The fear again. Fear because I don’t feel any dread, no fright, not the usual panic that I’ve grown so accustomed to.

She is reading everything – tells me today she is at October 2005 of my blog, and though I rarely go back and read my words I succumb to curiosity and explore who I’ve been…
Something is different inside of me. Something has changed, and I don’t know when, I don’t know how or where.
There is a subtle and quiet terror that wants me to believe that walls have been constructed again somewhere over the years, or that each failed romance has slowly chipped away at the passion that was once in every breath, leaving only a functional husk of who I was, gasping for air, gasping for life…

But… perhaps the anxiety of that is indication enough that it hasn’t, that I am still burning with the fire I once knew. The possibility is there that I’ve merely ‘matured’, have found a way to control the hunger inside…

Yeah. I’ll go with that.

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