To Be Enough

I worry that I will have to lose myself—shrink myself—normalize who I am. I worry that I will be engaged in mediocrity, reality chipping away at my dreams and desires.

I worry that I’ll be lost in a superficial fog, lost… in dense conversation.

I worry that I will not be enough. And I don’t mean that I will not be enough for him, no, no. If I am not enough for him, it’s because I can-not give in to, be succumbed to, be consumed by, accept the… mediocrity.

Not being enough for him, I can deal with.

I worry that I will not be enough… for myself.

For I love wearing my soul on the outside, thinking deeply, speaking poetically, loving passionately.

Fantasies and dreams are, oh so very real to me.

I do not wish to accept less.

I love being angry at life—yet happy to be alive to feel that anger.

I love looking at the particles floating through the air by the sunlight beaming through the branches of the trees… and wondering… what more is there to this life?

I love being able to read a “simple” sentence, quote, or a poem and feeling like my soul is being fed by a 3-star Michelin restaurant.

I love that I spend most of my time staring off into a world that my mind creates, staring so deeply that I forget where I am-and I lose track of what is real and what—is—not.

I worry that I will not be enough for myself.

That I will lose myself.

All for the sake of fake company.

All in which my heart, mind, and soul have agreed—is far worse than death.