I know that as long as I seek refuge in another person I will not find the peace I seek.
I know that no person can rescue me.
Constantly I realize I hurt myself.
My fleeting heated desires are pain. A tryst will not heal my unrest. Social acceptance, vanity, consumption will not cure this disease.
Sometimes the hardest thing to do is to sit. Alone. In silence.
I am not afraid of being happy. I am not afraid of being alone.
I am, however, afraid of being happy alone, a crippling fear that rules over me.
And maybe I am not in need of rescuing or escape. Maybe I am plainly in need of acceptance and surrender.
I surrender to you, dear life, dear self.
Constantly, I surrender.
