i am afraid of a few things.

Is it so bad that I am afraid?

Afraid to feel your warmth beneath my fingers,

because I think I might leave frost marks?

Afraid to rest my gaze on your beautiful eyes,

because I think you might see something ugly?

Afraid to string together the words that I know,

because I am terrified that you will hear (but won't listen)?

I am so full of fear.

(It courses through my blood like I could not live without it.)

I fear you.

What you were to me, that I lost myself in you.

What you could be, that I realize I wouldn't mind never finding myself.

And everything that you are right now;

something the romantics call "love", which is another fear unto itself

And most of all,

I am afraid of my own mind.

The part of me that believes,

wonders,

hopes.

Because I am so scared of how I want to follow it.

What am I not afraid of?

Your love.  And death.

Perhaps one and the same.