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It takes either too much self-trust or just plain stupidity to be able to put yourself out there. And whilst I ponder on whether I do not trust myself or whether I do not have much stupidity in my pocket, Time kills itself.

All I know though is when I am forced to put myself out there,  my hands get clammy and my heart knocks on my ribcage like a mad man’s desperate plea to reclaim his freedom.

The only consolation to all these hullabaloo is Sylvia Plath’s words – now mine, ringing in my ears as I try to stop my heart from potentially breaking free.

I am. I am. I am.



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