The Place Fear Grows

I’m afraid of you.

I’m afraid that if I love you, you’ll become a memory.

I’m afraid that you’ll become something that haunts me, and that I’ll become something that haunts you.

I don’t want to be the one that digs into you late at night.

And I don’t think you want to be the one that holds my breath for me, when I least expect it.

The only thing I’m more afraid of, is not loving you when I have the chance to.

Of not finding you every morning. 

And what if all love is an act of bravery?

Could you look at me and say, “I’m am not afraid”?