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Fear is not my dream

Sometimes I dream that I wake up from a nightmare, Of a world where I was too afraid to spread my wings, And they rot slowly, till they turned gray and ashen, Moldy from being hidden from the light of the sun. And I’ve learned that the fear of regrets can choke you faster than living in regret. That’s the thing about fear, it doesn’t want you breathing in fresh oxygen. Perhaps air is the enemy of dreams on dusty shelves.

I never wanted fear to drive me, Didn’t want its push and pull to lead me, Didn’t want its sickening weight to hold me down.

If I had a box with a lock that no one could open, I would take every bit of fear that harms, for there is fear that protects, stuff it into the box, and then shut it tight and bury it somewhere.

But what if someone found it, and broke open the box, not hindered by the lock, and all the fears that I stuffed away became theirs? That would be worse than living with those fears, for fear is a disease deadlier than the others.

It keeps me going round in circles. What could the antidote be? A bigger circle called Love that envelopes everything, swallows that box whole. Makes fear the distant dreams of my nightmares, And makes my dreams burst with hope.

I stare into the eyes of freedom, knowing this is too real to be a lie, Too vast to deny. I can finally see beauty, the colours are bright, And my wings begin to sparkle as I take flight.

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