I have this energy under my skin that thrives off of anticipation and fear. That welcoming fear that pushes you to go further than you thought you could go. I get a taste of it a couple times a year and after each taste I refuse to let it go for a while and return to stillness. I grasp on to it hard like the ending of story that speaks only to me. I want it again and again.
And it’s scary. I fear the stillness will equate to laziness. So I go further, and harder, and stronger. I fear that if I don’t push forward the taste will vanish all together. And I can’t live like that. I have tried, and I know it is possible…but who’s writing my story? Me or them?
I fly on an upward euphoric spiral that takes me away from the world. And I miss them so I deflate myself and touch back down. There is no balancing that is successful, no one side that will win – I am left to struggle.