The Alternative.

Here I sit, watching a thin line flicker. The blank page has already forgotten the words I was too afraid to share. My body feels tense, and my mind heavy. Yet despite my efforts, I cannot say what I really feel. If I am too afraid to put ink to paper, why am I here? There is no benefit to watching a bar blink. Its rhythm has no melody. Its silence offers no solace. I know that nothing can be gained from hesitating, but I almost find it superior to the vulnerability that waits on the other side. Is it really worth it to pour my burden out in front of an audience?

The world will not miss a story it never heard.