Dear fear ,

I have been avoiding you most my life until i figured out what was happening.

You see , i was the first born so my mom overprotected me from everything.

Every time i would fall she was there to catch me both literally and figuratively.

My dad was not around much and when he was i did not listen to his advice due to him not having my respect. Although a neglectful parent, he sought my attention to follow his counsel. His selective role-playing prompted me to selectively heed his words. Though some bitterness remains after all these years, a significant portion of his claims were accurate.

Its just the messenger was the right one to get the message across.

I was afraid of success to be honest because i was fine with being just average.

Was not into education but i was intelligent just never applied myself.

Was not into socializing i was okay being by myself 

Am i good enough ? Am I not smiling enough? laugh more ?

I am okay with being alone

I remained completely frozen by fear and did nothing for years.

Now it fuels me and with those voices of self doubt i still go

My daily routine includes self-care, even when battling tiredness, depression, or anxiety.

I still go out , still workout and remain active not sitting much on my couch or laying in bed

Face your fears is what my grandfather always says 

I learned to not only acknowledge you feat but to appreciate your role in life

Even when those voices tell me to stop i keep going

I’m afraid of the unknown, but I know what’s best for me lies ahead, so I’ll keep growing.

I hope you’re aware that I won’t back down from a fight with you.

Sincerely: your biggest and toughness rival my will to succeed , Isaac is me 

if “happiness is a butterfly”,
you are a bumble bee.
honey suckles seep
with opportunity
to propogate potential.

the unversal gift
of the life // death // life

the ability to embody
a honeycomb

transmuting
persperation
into pollination

finding a melody
in the hymn song
of the heartbeat

solice in the comfort
of faith,
knowing that Earth Mother,
will make sure everything is okay.

Dear The Lingering Fear That Three Simple Words Will Never Be Mine,

You have always tried to define love for me. You told me love is something I’ve been denied, incomplete, something I’ve longed for but never truly received. You whisper that without hearing those three words—I love you—from a man who chooses me, my life will close like an unfinished story, a book with missing pages.

And I’ll admit, you’ve gotten to me. I am battling my mortality at 38 years young. And in the face of death, I am supposed to find peace. I have prepared myself for the idea that cancer may claim my body, that my time may be shorter than I ever imagined. But my deepest fear isn’t cancer killing me—it’s dying without ever having heard those three paltry words from a man who is not my father.

Is love real unless someone speaks it? If a tree falls in a forest and no one hears it, does it make a sound? If love is only ever felt in silences and gestures, and never spoken, did it ever exist?

I have loved before, in the quiet, secret way that women love when they fear their love is too much. The first time, I swallowed it whole, afraid that if I spoke it, I would lose him entirely. The second time, I gave it words, typed them out in an email, sent them into the void. He never responded. And now, I say it wholeheartedly to the man I share my life with, and still, there is only silence where those words should be.

At night, you curl up beside me, filling the emptiness left by unspoken words. Either I’m not enough, or altogether too much, you whisper. Leaving this world without hearing those words means I was never profoundly, unquestionably loved, you breathe. That I will be one of the few who slip through life without that moment, that whisper, that confirmation. You taunt me with the idea that I will never know what it feels like to be loved in the way the world deems most important.

But I am learning something about you, Fear.

You shrink in the face of love.

Not just the kind I have been waiting for, but the kind I have always had. The kind I have given, over and over again, without needing it to be mirrored back. The kind I have received in ways that were quieter than words—the hand that lingers on my shoulder, the friend who answers the phone at midnight, the dog that follows me from room to room, needing no language to tell me I matter.

You tell me I have been deprived of love. But maybe I have been mistaking the sound of it.

Because love is more than eros, the kind I have spent my life waiting for—the kind that burns bright, passionate, fleeting. Love is also phileo, the steady, unwavering presence of those who choose me, not out of obligation, but out of devotion. The grandmother who carries my stories as if they are her own, the people who stay through every season, the love that is chosen, not just felt. And above all, love is agape—the deepest, purest love, the love that gives without asking, the love that does not waver whether it is spoken or not. The love that outlasts life itself.

And I see now, agape is the highest form of love, because it is love that exists without condition. It is love that does not demand to be named. It is love that has surrounded me all along. And if I can accept that, then I can choose to live not in fear or longing but in abundance.

Because victory over you, my dear fear, is not waiting for love—it is being love. It is pouring into myself as if I am the greatest romance ever to exist. It is saying I love you even if I do not hear it back. It is no longer shrinking myself to be more palatable, no longer fearing that love given freely is love wasted. It is loving fully and without restraint, not to receive, but simply to be.

So regardless if I ever hear these words spoken by a man who is not my father, I will vanquish you with love.

Because I am already loved.

Because I am love.

With Love Always,

Rachel

(Prowriting Aid Style Score 100%)

Same principle as-Dear John.
You are not leaving, So-I will!
You tell me so much-untrue,
So I am divorcing and leaving you!
Not married to you, nor addictions few-
You won’t go, won’t budge, So-I will move!

Though I have no idea how,
My learns of Jesus-He makes free,
Giving me rest… And He will best teach me,
How to defeat your homemade nest of Glee.
The one you built for years on end,
A false comfort-false feeling friend…
You was/is/am not who I thought-
You’re lying surviving, dread to me brought.

You can have me no more!
No reason any longer to fear myself,
For I don’t control me anymore -Jesus does!
Under His umbrella of Grace-
I’m found and completely safe!

Fear… whence comest thou?
I know not-though we are parting ways…
No evil to fear for the rest of my days!
No lies beside me-Jesus keeps them away,
Though around the bend you may sit at Bay-
I see thee far off and turn to you deaf ear,
You seek but don’t find… Your voice I cannot hear!

No words to you I have of my own,
Because Jesus true-builds me a new home!
You cannot have my kids, you cannot have my wife-
For you are dead my old cheating friend…
Because Jesus has ended your life!

I’ve already known fear,
Now it’s time to know God-
And fear cannot win because…

2 Timothy 1:7
For God hath not given us the spirit of fear; but of power, of love, and of a sound of mind.

… This promised fact I trust and love!!!

Dear Me,
I grew up in a household where anger was first, love was last. No one nurtured me lovingly. I spent my days in fear. My parents were so wrapped up in their own world it seemed they forgot that parenting is more than just food, shelter, clothes, etc. My biggest fear is becoming anything like them.
My father was not the best. On the outside, he was a teddy bear that the world loved. If you asked anyone, he was overall a good man. The man I knew, however, was terrifying. He drank and did drugs. He also was very abusive towards my mother and I. The things I seen go on between him and my mother no child should ever see. The things he did to me, on the other hand, were far worse. Without going into too much detail, black and blue were colors I was very familiar with. When around outsiders, he was loving, which at that young confused me. I could not tell what was reality. I never knew who to trust. I had a very hard time with things such as making friends, understanding who to ask for help, controlling my emotions, and many other things. He also put me in situations with other adults that had no business being anywhere near me in the ways they were. This caused more issues. Like not understanding boundaries, allowing things to happen to me that were very bad, and other unspeakable things. To some it up, he was my dad, but in reality, he was my nightmare, day in and day out.
My mother is a gentle being. She worked very hard to make sure me and my brothers had everything we could ever need in life. Within that, she lacked in places that are very vital to a child. With everything she went through with my dad, she forgot what it was to be a mother. Or at least to me, anyway. My mom got pregnant with my twin brothers when I was two years old. Sadly, my dad was not happy about this and begged her to get an abortion. When they were born, one of them was ill and almost died. This sent my mother into a rage against my dad for ever wanting an abortion. So when things with my dad got worse, she made it her mission to protect them against anything bad that came from my dad. Sadly, this left me in the dark. I at the very young age of three years old had to learn to protect myself. She would clean up after every mess they made, always alert them if they did something my dad didn’t like, and to always take the fall if he was upset with them. This caused me and my mom to become very distant. I did not feel love and nurtured by her at all.
I just had my first child. He is the sweetest little guy in the world. I could not imagine him going through anything I did as a child. My biggest fear is becoming like my parents. I don’t worry about me becoming like my dad too much. Sadly, I have some of his mental problems, such as the bipolar disorder, depression, and major anxiety. I worry about these things because I could hurt my child with my words or my distance. However, I go to counseling and get treatment for these things, working really hard to ensure I am more than just my mental status. I also fear that overworking or becoming too focused elsewhere might create a distance between my child and me, similar to the distance I experienced with my mother. I don’t plan to do these things, but I am not perfect.
So, to my son, I promise to try. I promise to focus on everything that involves you. I promise to put you first, no matter the situation. I promise to use all I have inside me to ensure you never feel unloved or unprotected. Most importantly, I promise to make sure you never have to question yourself one day the way I’m questioning myself now. I will always make sure you understand what true love is and how to give it back to the word in your own ways. I know I will not always be a perfect mother, but I will do my very best to be the best that I can be because you, my child, hold my heart and soul in the palm of your hands.
Yours truly,
A very nervous momma.
(Style Score 83%)

Dear My Mental Hindering Voice,

The sense of defeat is my fear. There are many mental emotions that are associated with that. Which includes; Frustration, Self-doubt and being powerless.

Just when we have reached the peak of our goal, that negative intellectual-emotional wave comes through mention, “You have the inability to achieve anything higher than your normal shift job.” She happens to be in her car and stated, “Insecurity and cognitive dissatisfaction no longer lives here rent free, because I am her, and she is a shining light!”

Thinking, “You so see, you are a failure, right?” Like everything you do is a loss. Whatever your abilities are, they’re lacking; you fall short and no one is pleased. So, I am speaking out loud, “Confidence is why I get me out of bed!”, attacking new tasks, and making someone day is the highlight of my life. My darkness, I expel you from all my personal tunnels!

“Defenseless obstacles that inherited setbacks. That also caused you to have a change in strength that made you useless and minor authority.” stated her abstract self. She looked at her beautiful reflection and stated, “Being beat down & paralyzed or being a victim.”, I eject you from any influence on my cognitive thoughts, even on my dark days.

I, Jamie Rachelle Smith, nullifies any negative intellectual, anything less than confidence and paralyzed influence on cognitive thoughts. Because you are her, a d she is you and you are Mrs. Jamie Rachelle Smith.

With so much Love and no misunderstanding;

A Victorious Woman

Score 75%

Through contemplation, self-work, and a willingness to set and stick to my goals, I have already overcome you multiple times. However, every time I overcome you, instead of slinking away, vanquished, you morph instead. You have remained linked to the root fear, that this cycle will never be broken, but you sagely switch from one facet to another, evading full decimation through your ability to evolve.

I remember the dread that things would never change and never improve, that I would be stuck forever in this emotional and psychological abuse. However, with my adulthood came a freedom to make my own choices. One of my first choices was to leave rather than continue taking abuse from my would-be-protectors.

My second choice was to seek professional help. I had a more concrete fear, one I could name to said professional. I wanted to work on ways to avoid what felt like an inevitability. I did not want to become my father, with his anger, pride, and addiction, all of which would always be more valuable to him than his family. I also did not want to marry my father, an adage that my mother had been scaring me with for longer than I could remember. Little girls always marry their fathers, she would say, and I would shudder myself to sleep at the idea that I could be so blinded or affected as to end up with a monster like Him.

So I worked through those fears. I grew, and I changed. For a time, I was convinced this fear was gone completely. I became engaged and married to a man who was kind, who had no vices harder than video games, and with no adverse anger issues that I noticed in our three years of courtship. Better yet, when we did have conflicts, he was the first to say we should see a counselor to avoid our small problems becoming insurmountable. He was willing to work on himself, too.

As years pass, I continue to work on myself. I am back in therapy due to work stress and burnout. I work on creating healthy boundaries between myself and my parents. I can only have them in my life in a way that feels safe and manageable. Now my fears are about my siblings, whom I practically raised at times. They have not had as easy of a time extricating themselves from the habits and mistakes of our parents. They have fallen into similar patterns and pitfalls. I look at my sister and see shades of our mother. She is stronger in many ways and is actively working on herself as well, but she struggles to find peace within herself and is always trying to seek affirmation from her partners. When she is stressed and lonely, she leans too heavily into her vices. She can be erratic and difficult to communicate with. I want to help her veer of this path, because we all know where it leads, but I am not sure how.
I look at my brother and hear my father in the thunderous roar of his anger. He can be irrational and prideful. He takes every comment as an attack and steps forward guns blazing, ready to defend himself. Even when the “enemy” is a loved one, even his three-year-old daughter. I see him treating his daughter the same way our father treated us and it breaks my heart. I want him to look inward and find a way to soothe his anger, but I worry he is too much like our father to ever think that the problem lies within him. To ever consider that maybe he is the one who needs help.

So I stand here on the outside, having broken free of the cycle. I watch my family still spinning in these pre-made ruts, unable to break free. Unable to see for yourselves how stuck you are. My fear is that there is nothing I can do to help you. I have offered a hand and you’ve smacked it away. I have held up mirrors and you shatter them with denials, detract with your dismissals. I ache and I stress, because not only do you suffer and wither away, but you hold my niece and nephews close, tying them to the cycle. Will you give them no other choice than to follow in your footsteps as well? Will this endless cycle of addiction and abuse be their fate?

The only way to conquer this fear is admit to myself that these choices, your choices, are ultimately out of my hands. I have to find some way to accept those things I cannot change. And learn to love you anyway, warts and all.

With much trepidation,
M. A. D.

72% Style Score

To my greatest fear,
I love you. I mean, how could I not? You’ve kept me safe from the horrors of what I could become, what I surely would become without you here to protect me. I love you for it, and everything else you’ve shaped me for. I thought you should know that.
Years have gone by, standing in your shadow, trembling in the cool comfort of the darkness cast because of it. We exist in a harmony like none other I’ve experienced, and I am forever in your debt. I repay by only knowing what you’ve allowed me to know: I can truly be safe in what I find familiar. That and never more.
The heat could have taken me out. The sun could have blinded me. It could have burnt me to a crisp if I dared reach into the world around me. With every step, I trusted your judgment. I knew you’d lead me into a new city, one away from dangers, from prying eyes, from the light that would surely hurt me if even a finger got caught in the rays.
In time, I’ve grown to enjoy it. At least, that’s what my captive mind has told itself. How could I understand true, unfiltered joy through the lens of false security you’ve given me so graciously? The rose-colored glasses you glued to my eyes turned out to shield the unknown and the scary and the horrors, but also the feeling of freedom every soul in the world longs for. That’s when I knew I had to crack the shades.
Believe me, I saw it when you protested. You contorted in every way to keep me under your belt, ignoring all the times I told you I wanted just one hour in the sun. Really, it made me wonder who I was without you, if I even knew the person I could be out of the shadow. Your words played like a broken record over and over, again and again. “I can truly be safe in what I find familiar.” That reassurance had gotten me through years of hard times and missed opportunities, and I turned out alright. So, what’s the issue?
I wasn’t happy. Iron chains turned into your iron grip, holding me back from a wonderful life I knew I could have if I only broke free. Tearing off those chains to see the light was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Trying to find peace in the unknown ate away at my sense of self, or what I thought that was.
The beautiful thing is: the light warmed me. Gentle heat radiating on my skin eased the shivers and tears and shallow breaths. I inhaled the air the sun had touched for the very first time. Sure, the path ahead was bright, casting a ring of white into my eyes so I couldn’t see over five feet in front of me. Sure, any monster or creature could be lurking outside my periphery. If I’d hidden in my shadow, I wouldn’t have seen all the beauty this world could, and does offer to those willing to look.
We, as real, authentic people, are handed fear to protect us from the dangerous things; some that could kill our bodies and some that could kill our hope.
Even so, I am you, and you are me. Accepting a fear like you to live with, learn and grow with, and explore who I am outside of is nothing but a blessing. I promise you that.
Sincerely, me.

Style Score: 89

You have always been a good friend to me, the best honestly. Dedicated to keeping me safe when I myself could not. Like when I run off to explore the highest cliffs, tallest trees, and biggest waves that this world has to offer. You keep me from falling, from failing. I always pushed myself, but you knew my limits. I think I began running from you years ago. Slow progress at first, but now I am moving full speed. Yet, you still follow, always with me. Popping up in the most unexpected places. I am afraid that every year has been a lifetime and somehow they have all passed me by. Because of your worries, I have kept myself from all the world has to offer, because I was too afraid to get hurt. There are just some things I will never know without taking the risk. When I step off the edge of the cliff, I do not know if I will fall or fly. But it is time to find out. I cannot chain myself to the ground any longer because I am afraid of what lies among the clouds.

Fear, it is time for me to try to live without you. I will always trust you to keep me safe, but safety is not what I’m looking for anymore. I love you, but it is time for me to move on. Thank you for everything. Maybe I will see you again someday, but I really hope I do not.

Style Score 45%

January 30th, 2025,
Hello, Friend,
Please, take the time to read this. Listen to me for one moment. A moment of your time, please. Despite your busy schedule, I promise this will be worthwhile if you disregard the longing and the pathetic mess I worry I convey, even through my writing.

Are you still there?

Now that we can finally speak, I have much to share, pent-up feelings I could never express. It is ridiculous, I think, to feel my nerves tense with each word I write to you, as if, even at this moment, you cannot let me go. The grip of you feeds into every conscious thought, every interaction, every significant moment in my life—I am bound to you by some blood oath I never remembered taking. But we humans all deal with you—one way or another—and it makes me wonder how busy you must be.

Do you move around with us? I make the leap to a new city, eager and ready to explore a world beyond the one I have known without you. But then, you are there. Waiting. First, at the airport. One bag—small and light, but enough to remind me you exist. The second in the car as the towering skyscrapers pass me by. A little package neatly wrapped with a pink bow. That one I cherish most—it reminds me I am human and how I should carry this small amount of you wherever I go. I learned to appreciate it, and I thank you. Until I reach my new apartment, and the bags are no longer covered to shield me from the truth, but now stacked high so I can never forget it. Forget you.

This is only the beginning. The cycle repeats. The days pass and the days turn into weeks and then into months, I slowly throw away the bags, the weight of you slipping off my shoulders each time I do. Such a freeing feeling. But then the moment someone walks out of my life or the moment I question why I am in this new place, another one of your packages shows up at my doorstep. It never mattered where I was in the city. If I was out in a nightclub or a coworker’s house, your presence lingered.

A. Constant. Relentless. Reminder. Of. You!

I can never shed you, can I? I can never convince you to let me free from your grip. These packages constantly remind me how you can whisk me away from my hard-won happiness and security. I will do anything to keep you away—pay, beg, plead—as long as possible. I cannot handle your full presence, the packages are more than enough to remind me a piece of you stays. But if I can only handle these fragments of you, how do you feel? Do you, too, feel your own presence?

I know you do. The ache in your gut whenever you say goodbye to someone you love, the way your heart stops when someone mentions something you did that upset them—I feel it all the time. So, what do we both want? Unity? Acceptance? I fear neither of those are correct, and we shield each other from the truth, if only to make ourselves feel as though we have some purpose in this isolated and repetitive world.

So, tell me, Loneliness, why do we care? Why do you make me care? Writing, watching films, reading—all of those can be done alone. Eating, running, sleeping never require another being to make me feel accomplished. Yet in my bed, late at night, when everyone is gone, and I am left with nothing but the thoughts in my head, that is when you invade my mind the most. I think you feel me, too, since you need to dig into every conscious thought I have. It feels good to know we are not alone in that way. No matter what, you, Loneliness, will always find me, and I will have no choice but to accept you.

And that is okay. Because I know what you feel, so I will embrace you with open arms, because we make each other feel less, well, lonely. But accepting you does not mean surrendering to you. I will walk beside you, acknowledge you, even learn from you—but that is all. And maybe you can learn a thing or two from how I choose to live despite you.

Until I feel you again,
Tatiana Coleman
Style Score: 100%

To my fear of inadequacy,

As much as I appreciate the opportunities you have provided me, I think it’s time for me to move on and seek prospects elsewhere. I believe that the departure allows me to provide feedback in a closing interview of sorts. No need to drag this out; I’ll give the information here. 

Though beneficial, our shared time witnessed rising disrespect. I cannot place all the blame on your side, however, because I did not address the issues as they arose. I sat back and watched as things escalated beyond my control. However, there were multiple times I attempted to speak up on my behalf, especially when tactics of humiliation started being used. It is not productive to instill anxiety and self-doubts into someone as they are focusing on improvement. Instead of being listened to and validated, the all-knowing fear of inadequacy decided the best approach was to gaslight me and make me feel unsure of my own thoughts. 

Through reflection and therapy sessions, I can now accept that the decision lies with me. Previously, self-doubt masked my inner resilience and self-belief. I’ve turned a page; this ends now. Thank you for the lessons I have learned and for providing me with challenges and obstacles that helped me reach that internal strength. I apologize if this letter has come across as rude or disrespectful. I might have been emotional.

In closing, accept this as my letter of resignation. Using the two-week notice doesn’t seem necessary here, and I’m confident you’ll agree. We shall consider this a clean break and go our separate ways. You needn’t worry about reference requests. Good luck.

Regards,

Me

Style score: 100%

Dear Abandonment,

You’re a relentless shadow that hangs over me, creating the suffocating anxiety that tightens its grip around my heart, a heavy weight on my chest, a constant reminder of past wounds and fears that refuse to fade. The ache in my stomach, the knot in my throat – they’re all echoes of your painful influence. You’re weaving self-sabotage into the scars of my heart.

I find myself trapped in a tug-of-war with my own thoughts. I’m caught between the desire for love and comfort and the fear of being hurt once more. Your icy embrace has created a barrier around my heart, an isolated fortress. Sadly, in doing so, you’ve robbed me of the chance to truly connect, to feel the warmth of genuine affection without the shadow of doubt looming overhead.

As I look back on the events that shaped me, I can’t help but wonder if you cursed me to fall under your control from the very beginning. Your grasp clouded my teenage years, which should’ve been filled with laughter and lightness, restricting my movements and limiting my desire to reach out. Was it a crime to love too deeply, too soon? To find comfort in those appearing caring, yet experience betrayal and cruelty.

I long to break free from the chains you’ve wrapped around me. I want to remove the layers of protection that have become a prison of my making. The walls of your fortress, built with bitter bricks of past traumas and heartaches, stand as a hurtful reminder of the pain you’ve insured in me. However, I refuse to be held captive any longer.

I beg you, Abandonment, let me go. Set me free from the constriction of your insufferable chamber. Unburdened by fear, I need space to breathe and move forward. I’m ready to move forward without fear, to face the unknown with open arms, and to leave behind the shadows of the past.
Please, I beg of you, let me go.

Sincerely, Amber Gonzales

(Pro Writing Aid Style Score: 100%)

Dear Fear of Choosing the Wrong Line,

It happens again at the grocery store.

I’m clutching a carton of oat milk in one hand, a bag of frozen dumplings in the other, my grip tightening as I scan the checkout lanes. To my left, an elderly woman shuffles through her purse with trembling fingers, her face tightening in frustration as she fumbles for exact change. To my right, a father wrestles a squirming toddler, his voice strained but patient as she thrashes against his chest, a box of fruit snacks clutched defiantly in her tiny hands.

My breath catches. Which one? Which line will move faster? I start to step right but hesitate—just for a second, just long enough for someone else to slide into place ahead of me. Guess the choice is made. I stay left, watching as the other line glides forward, the father and child already arriving at the exit—I haven’t even gotten to set my items on the conveyor belt.

A familiar weight settles in my chest, the bitter taste of regret pooling at the back of my throat. Another wrong choice. Another small failure. Another reminder that hesitation costs me.

And maybe, in a different life, I’d shrug this off. Maybe I’d tell myself it’s just a few extra minutes, a trivial miscalculation. But it’s not just about the line, is it?

It never is. It’s about every decision that has ever pressed itself against my ribs, every moment where I wavered just long enough for life to choose for me.

I think of college—of the nights I sat in front of two screens, one filled with logic gates and algorithms, the other with half-finished stories that ached to be written. I had once dreamed of creating worlds, of spinning constellations from ink, of giving breath to characters who could carry humanity to the stars. But I went with the safer path, the one lined with job security and predictable outcomes. Computer science made sense. It was structured, logical, clear.

But at night, when the world is quiet and my laptop hums softly in the dark, I sometimes open a blank document and wonder—wonder if I had silenced something inside me that was never meant to be quiet. Wonder if I have spent years optimizing for safety at the expense of the parts of me that made life feel electric.

I think of love—the first one, the one I stayed with too long, trying to solder together something that had already melted through my fingers. I believed love was supposed to be work, that if I just held on tight enough, it wouldn’t slip away. And then the second—the one I let go too soon, mistaking fear for wisdom, mistaking silence for strength. Sometimes, in my dreams, I hear his voice like an echo in a hollow room, feel the phantom weight of his hand in mine. And I wonder: Had I been too careful? Too measured? Too unwilling to risk the messiness of the unknown?

And the dog.

The one I always meant to bring home. I pictured him curled at my feet, warm and steady, an anchor on the loneliest nights. I told myself I just needed a little more stability, a little more time. But time didn’t wait. And when I was finally ready, my body wasn’t. An allergy I never knew I had slammed the door shut, and I was left staring at a future that could never be. I think about that version of myself sometimes—the one who didn’t hesitate, who just reached out and chose life over practicality. And I wonder if she is happier.

Regret is a heavy thing to carry. But fear is heavier.

The cashier hands me my receipt, and I step out into the cold air, tucking my chin into my coat. Across the parking lot, the father is still there, kneeling beside the open car door, his daughter bundled in pink, her tiny hands gripping his sleeve. She’s no longer fighting him. She presses her face into his jacket, soothed not by explanations or reasoning, but by presence. By the simple, unshaken certainty that he is here, that he chose to be here.

And I wish that were enough for me.

I wish I could believe that it doesn’t matter what line I pick, that life is not a sequence of optimized moves, but rather a series of moments—some beautiful, some aching, all irretrievable. I wish I could embrace the waiting, trust the slowness, surrender to the unknown without needing to solve for the best outcome.

But I’m afraid. Afraid that the minutes do matter. Afraid that the wrong choices add up, that they calcify into a life that is less than it could have been. Afraid that there is a right path, just out of reach, and I will spend my life missing it by inches.

Afraid that I will wake up one day and realize I have built a life that is safe but small. Afraid that I will look back and see the moments where I should have leapt, should have loved, should have risked, should have chosen more.
The fear does not disappear. And maybe it never will.

But today, I step forward anyway. Still calculating, still unsure, still afraid. But moving.

And maybe, for now, that’s enough.
Yours still, but trying,
Me.

Style score: 80%