Scared of being alone. Scared of making decisions because I’m scared of wrong turns. Scared of my age and my disabilities. Scared of looking for an apartment. Scared of buying furniture. Scared of buying linens. Scared of buying dishes.
Scared of being alone.
I’ve been in a relationship for the better part of my lifetime. I always saw the world through two sets of eyes. I always made decisions based on two sets of ears. I always kissed on two sets of lips. Always laughed with two voices. Always smiled with two grins. Always held hands with ten fingers. Always loved with two hearts.
But today I find myself alone. Alone in a hotel room in Charlotte and wonder what I’m doing? I’ve tried to convince myself that I’m living my life. But am I?
Or am I running? Running away.
I don’t know where I’m going; and if I don’t know where I’m going, how will I ever know when I get there?
I have loved in my life, but what I lack, sorely, is that person waiting for me at the airport; that sleepy voice on the other end of the line taking my early call; that eager response to a text; that surprise visit; that one last, long last embrace before I wander through security.
If anyone has ever been on the same boulevard of running scared, please tell me that there’s a true destination. I know I’m running from my past, from the unrelenting disappointments and failures, from my crushed relationship with Nick, from my lies and my fantasies, but I’m running into the fog of my unknown future.
I’m running scared, but alas, I’m still running.
And that is better than stopping, isn’t it?