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.