I’m now 30, and to imagine that when you were my age, you already had my brother and me. Being still unmarried and unsure what I really want out of my life, I cannot believe that you were working full time yet still somehow managed to come home to us every day to have dinner together, to read us to sleep, and to have the energy to bring us out on the weekends. It is oddly heartbreaking for me to think of how our relationship has changed over three decades.

For the first decade, I had clung on very tightly to you, to dad, and to my siblings. I don’t know when people start fearing death, but I am very sure that death was one of my first and greatest fears. Before I turned ten, I remember sitting with you by the window being very afraid. I asked you if you would wait for me at the gates of Heaven so that you could be the first thing I saw when I died. I made you promise, over and over again, to stay there and wait for me so that we would not be lost from each other.

The second decade, as with most parent-child relationships, things changed. I was growing into my own, so they say. From a loving, close, relationship, ours turned into a cold one fraught with secrets and anger. Emotions had subsided by the time I went into university overseas and you took two weeks off work to help me settle in. However, I will regret not being matured enough to have recognized your action as love. I am ashamed that I did not reciprocate, and instead I left you alone in my dormitory while I went out and stayed out late into the night under the guise of making new friends. You let me sleep on the bed, you took the sleeping bag on the floor. To think that I had only deigned to have dinner with you once during the two weeks, while you were alone in my room with nothing else to do. I try to wipe the memory of the second decade out of my mind.

The third decade, thankfully, I matured midway through and started trying to get the relationship back to where it should have been. Alas, time and maturity are trickster twins – the moment you get one, the other starts slipping away. One night, we were driving late at night to grab Macdonald’s for my brothers, when all of sudden for no apparent reason you turned to me and said so very nonchalantly, “I wonder what your brothers would look like when they grow old”. I don’t know what that comment meant to you then, but I think of what you said every now and then and it saddens me to think that the futures that my brothers and I walk towards everyday will always remain a mystery to you after some point.

Today, I wish that I can spend more time with you, yet I also feel my own dreams and ambition tugging me in other directions. As I get to the age you were when I pestered you to wait for me at the Heavenly gates, the fear that the time I have left with you is running out looms larger. Up till my last decade, I only had to fear some ungodly catastrophe, a freak accident, some rare, black swan event that would cause you would be taken away from this earth. Today, the fear of losing you is no longer irrational; the fear is real and it gnaws on me, it is a logical conclusion to the ailment of life. It grows every time I see you and notice that you have gotten skinnier, that you look frailer. Every time I hear you complain about some new thing that is bothering you, whether it be a worsening memory or unexplained pains, I am reminded that unlike other fears, this is one fear that will come to pass.

I cannot change the past and treat you as you deserved then, and I cannot control the future and get to have you in my life forever. The only thing I can do is to believe that I am making the right choices in balancing time with you now and time to work on my future. When the day comes as I know it shall, then I can only be strong and believe that you will wait for me as you had promise those many years ago. Loss is a pain that everyone on earth will go through, and we are no different. Neither of us are perfect, but I will not let that nor any fear stop me from loving you better.

63% style score

Dear Time

You are a thief. That might seem harsh, and maybe a little irrational. I admit that you have given me some of my greatest moments. My wedding day, and the birth of my four beautiful children are just to name a few. Despite what I have been given you have also robbed me. I can’t say that it’s all your fault, but it’s easier to blame others than be accountable for our own lack of action.

During the course of day I wonder if there is ever enough time to complete all that needs to be accomplished. How is it possible that sixty seconds turn into a minute, sixty minutes turn in to an hour, 24 hours turn into a whole day. Gone! Poof! Just like that! Of course, that isn’t the case when I am working. You slow your roll. It’s like honey dripping from a spoon, slow and sticky. Yet, when the workday is finally complete, the large hands on the clock spin out of control. It’s just not fair.

Some say that time is your friend, others say it’s your worst enemy. I guess time is what you make of it. How do you get the most out of the time we have? Are you in control or am I just looking for someone or something to blame? I reflect on that rhetorical question. I was just seventeen when my mom died of cancer. I had a short amount of time to learn from her and love her. My husband and I married just shortly after her passing. We were married for ten years before we had our first of four kids. Ten years to develop a plan, build a nest egg, get prepared for raising a family. We did none of those things. We kept telling ourselves we had time. You are so sneaky. Letting us think that time was infinite. You play with our minds in a way that tricks us into believing we have time. Even when our children were small, I was always watching the time. Time to get up, time for breakfast, time for school, time for bed. I was always and continuously mentioning time. Five more minutes in the tub, ten more minutes to ride your bike. Everything has been hinged on time. Then you blink and they are all grown adults, and you wonder where the time went.

Even today, as I approach my middle-aged years, I wonder if I will be allotted enough time to see my children get married and have kids of their own. I wonder how long I will be able to fall asleep to my husband’s heartbeat, after his cardio-thoracic surgeon brought him back to me. I get it, time is not promised to any of us. We can’t prevent the sands of time from pouring through the hourglass. That being said, there is no time like the present to make changes, make things happen, live like there is no tomorrow. You have taught me that. I can’t get time back, but I can make the most of the time I have left. You have robbed me in the past but not anymore. Now I am not saying that I can’t waste time near a cozy fire with a good book during the winter. Sometimes that is the perfect antidote to a stressful schedule, but I vow that I will make every day count. I will not waste any more time feeling sorry for myself or worrying about what could have been. I will not let time trickle away without achieving something. I am only scratching the surface to who I can become, what I can accomplish and how I can be an example to my family, friends and community. You may have won the battle, but you have not won the war. Time will be on my side because I will make it so.

Time marches on, but so will I. I will hold myself accountable for my failures and celebrate my successes. I have the power to turn negative experiences into positive periods of growth. So, you just keep ticking, let the days turn into weeks, then months, then years. I will continue to grow and become the person I was always meant to be because time does not control me.

Sincerely,
Reva M. Gomes

Style Score 82%

Dear Bestie,

I get it. I do.

You’ve been my ride or die since I chickened out from going to the school of Journalism school at the University of Missouri back in the day. Circa 1998.

You held my hand as I decided on that High School English Teacher thing instead when I ended up pregnant at age 21.

You never left and bought a front row ticket to watch as I became a single mom of 4 little girls by the time I hit age 26.

You were there when we walked across that stage to get that degree, 8 months pregnant while my 4-year-old, 3-year-old, and 18-month-old daughters watched as I waddled across that stage.

You never left.

You told me it was ok when I got that D in Shakespeare.

You stayed with me all the way through. My loyalty to you mirrored the loyalty you showed me first. Please know I’m forever grateful.

While teaching teenagers to write, you encouraged me to focus on the Mommin’. It was easy to stay a small-town writer—just a few FB posts here and there and a Substack or two.

Chapter after chapter turned into more than a single book over the course of all those years busy with Mommin’ on the solo.

It’s now 2025, and you’re still here. And I accidentally somehow turned 45. The halfway point.

The 3 oldest daughters, now 23,22, and almost 19 in college and 1 with her own degree, while the youngest, now 18, has only 4 months left before high school graduation as the class valedictorian. The last to leave the nest as she heads to Mizzou at summer’s end.

We always told ourselves, you and I, that I was too busy to write for real. And here we are now, with just a few months left before that excuse no longer pays rent.

Somewhere along the way, I uncovered your real name.

My bestie.

First name: Fear.

Middle name: Writing.

Last name: Books—with a handful of words in between

Fear of Writing the Books. All of them.

But the thing is, I’ve lived with you so long that somewhere along the way I’m no longer scared of you.

I realized that my best friend, Fear, had molded me into the writer I’ve become—a writer whose name I never believed would appear on a book.

Somewhere along the way, fear becomes the thing that refines a girl and makes her better.

Fear becomes the key to unlocking what’s inside you.

The one who is the Creator put that thing into your heart.

The One who placed a girl like me on this earth at this specific time in history to create, produce, and contribute to her people in her places. To use words to help others in their becoming.

I want you to know I am so thankful for you. But the time is here. It’s time to let you go.

I don’t need you anymore. Truth is, I’m a small-town girl, and it wasn’t easy raising 4 little girls on the solo on a teacher’s income, but I did it. And now, it’s time to write.

I needed you for the first 45. I needed a bestie like you. A someone to do life with. To grow me. To help me become.

I made it out of that small-town mentality—the one that holds a girl with a pen hostage. The one that silences dreams too soon.

It’s time to step into who I’ve spent years accidentally becoming—and fully own all that I now am.

I’m done pretending the words I’ve been writing all these years were simply words without an audience.

Words written but never read.

Truth is—the next 45 years is enough time to write all the words for all the people who need to read them.

Those held hostage by their own fears in need of unlocking.

Turns out I’m the owner of the keys. It’s up to me to have the guts to share the words given to me with others in desperate need of the keys given to me in the currency of words.

Fear isn’t the enemy.

Sometimes, she just needs space to help a girl to become.  

With Love Always,

Style Score: 90

Dear Fear,

I see you. I know your patterns. You slip in quietly, not as a roar but as a whisper, as a slight hesitation, a second round of overthinking, a perfectly rational reason to wait just a little longer. You don’t paralyze me outright–you just keep me moving away from stillness. You make sure I’m always reaching for the next thing, because as long as I’m reaching, I never have to ask: Is this already enough?

But I’ve unraveled your disguise.

You call yourself ambition. You dress up as refinement, as striving, as self-improvement. But underneath it all, you are the belief that I must earn my right to rest, to be seen, to feel fulfilled. You have convinced me that I am safest when I am becoming, because if I am becoming, I do not have to confront the truth that scares me the most:

What if, after all the becoming, I still feel like something is missing?

I won’t play this game anymore.

Here’s why you won’t win:

I know now that I do not need to chase anything to be whole. Growth is not the same thing as peace. Motion is not the same thing as meaning. Reinvention is not the same thing as belonging. The future version of me–the one you keep telling me will feel better, lighter, more at home in herself–she is not waiting on the other side of more effort. She is already here.

I am overcoming you not by fighting you, but by refusing to let you dictate my pace. I will not let the next project, the next revision, the next version of myself be the condition for my contentment. I will write, create, share–not to chase an outcome, but because the act itself is enough. I will let my work exist without over-editing it into submission. I will let myself exist without constantly preparing for the next iteration.

I will stay present, no matter how uncomfortable that feels.

You can stay, Fear. I’m not exiling you. But you don’t get to lead me anymore. I will walk forward, not because I am afraid of stillness, but because my soul chooses movement from a place of fullness, not lack.

And the best part? I don’t need to win against you. Because I have already stopped losing to you.

Sincerely,
Me.

style score 84%

Dear fear of mine,

Imagine peak summertime, peak childhood, skin fully lathered in Coppertone. 

It was a Friday, my last day of swim lessons. 

You introduced yourself to me with the persistence quite like a morning glory, winding from belly to throat until I became entangled with the unavoidably obvious fact that my time had come to walk the dreaded plank towards my destiny . 

The final test.

The diving board. 

Shuffling one foot in front of the other, I gripped the edge of the board with pruned toes and watched as the crystal blue oasis below transformed into the darkest pool of uncertainty . 

Paralyzed, I wondered why anyone in their right mind would put themselves in a situation such as this one. 

 I looked over at my dad, whose words echoed in the canals of my water logged ears. 

“You can do it” 

Your vine of flowering hesitation tightened with each beat of my terrified heart, but somewhere, beneath the ripples of doubt, a quiet knowing grew. 

So I made the leap, nose pinched, eyes closed, and plunged into the realization that the anecdote to loosen your hold is only to jump unabashedly into what I am called to do.

And as I continue to navigate life’s pools of possibilities, standing on the water’s edge of all that is before me, I see you not as the vine that holds me captive, but the current that unravels its grip, leading me from the tangled shores of uncertainty into the deep reservoir of my own courage. 

Style Score 77%

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%