Fear, I guess people call it. Nobody in my age that I know of. I cannot see how they do it. How, liking a photograph or status, is enough. How typing incessantly the same nonsense is enough. How, buying the latest smart phone 5 is enough. How, intoxicating themselves to the point of meaning less intimacy is enough. Enough.
I do not know you now; I do not remember you this way. You were comforting. You had sunlight that invited me on the sands. You had waves that wrestled with me on the beach. You had a breeze, with a chill when I was hot and warmth when I was cold. You had endless roads that I could cycle on until dark. Where are you now?
I am not scared or afraid of you, I am just a little fearful. Trepidation. I know you are there, but I cannot find you.
I know everything is the same. Instead of from your arms, now I see everything in my own right. I see everything as an individual; I see everything as, I assume, it should be seen. But the lies that protected me for so long seem comfortable, compared to the lies that surround me now. I am waiting. I am waiting at the edge of chaos. I do not fear falling on the one side, or the other. But I fear, terribly, staying here, not knowing, and not being sure of who you are, or who I am.