Can I be honest for a bit?

I am so scared.

Of writing.

Of failing.

Of succeeding.

Of picking the wrong thing and sticking with it.

Of picking the right thing and letting it go.

Of fighting too little.

Of fighting too much.

Of words.

Of stories.

Of myself.

Of falling down.

Of getting up.

Of actually knowing I will fail again and again (and not only succeed).

Why do I still go on?

Because I can’t help it.