Scared

I don't often fear much. I don't often worry much. These days I just hang up my hat on worries and if something bothers me enough to blow; it's a short quick burst, like one of those pop rocks you threw on the ground on the 4th of July when you were a kid.
But some things I can't always imagine.

Sometimes I'm having a hard time remembering all of the vivid painful details.

I feel as if my memory has erased a lot my whole life, it is my hopes that any pain or discomfort or awkwardness gently breaks away from my memory bank and makes it's escape.

I'd rather make room for the lessons learned. For the confidence and bravery I've gained.

But what can I say? What leaves me scared?

A few things, just a few.

Sometimes the truth. Because sometimes I suppose the truth leads to more pain, or the possibility of pain, if the truth allows room for happiness to grow.