Letter to Fear

:) I have been postponing this though you have persistently prevailed on my mind even as I wrote out to others. I delayed, thinking you are not important enough. I delayed, thinking I could do without it. But who was I joking. This is necessary -- not through imaginary conversations, but through something more tangible, if only virtual words. Fear. Fear, fear. You were this fascinating thing from the slam-book times. I would find it very stylish to mention you as an answer to "Your greatest fear". Yes, quite a nyaka I have been. To have "fear" as an answer to it. And, quite impossibly, I did not understand then, how I generously let you in.

You have set in deep today. So deep that I am struggling hard to find one domain of my thought or imagination which is without you. And you have made my head so much your own that my thoughts and actions have your shadow. Graphic shadow. The other day I wrote a letter to Doubt, which was one of those rare moments when I did away with you. Only I know how unlike me it was to frame those sentences of utter optimism. You have rotted that very essence in me. Like an endless tunnel which only lengthens. 

I do not know why I am writing to you. I do not know what I can write to you about. But I can just convey a truth about myself. That place you have made a dark mess out of, used to be fields of wildflowers. Pretty little wildflowers, cottony and fluffy and colourful and capable. There was a smell of happiness which is overpowered by your stench of fear. Fear of the inevitable, fear of the apparent. That place, though pretty much here seems a place of yesterday, a part of history where I did not belong. You have captivated my soul so effectively that I cannot even face you, I can only strategise to run away from you -- with you catching up fast. Vicious circle, yes.

I long to visit those fields of wildflowers someday. Run through the yellows and blues and pinks and purples. And drink in life. Without you chasing me down my back, shoulder, neck, head. Or, even if you do, I want to be able to turn around and face you to introduce you to the valley of wildflowers, swaying together in joyous unison. Fear, that is what forms me. I still have a memory of my own. What about you? You are so empty that everything you sit upon has to feed you. Was this conversation a runway too, from which I could not fly away?

I return, wishing one day I would face you.

K.