My heart beats slightly faster and I feel like crying. Nothing is wrong and I am not sad, but the autumn outside is shedding cold tears, darkening the atmosphere and inviting me to travel deep inside my heart. I love this vibe, and I love crying. Crying is a form of personal magic; it is a summoning of life-giving water for the fertile ground of my heart. I cry to release dark shadows, I cry to cleanse and to wash away sorrows. I cry because tears can soothe my anger. I cry because sometimes, I am overwhelmed by joy. I cry because of frustration. And today I realised that I even cry because of fear. I am afraid of… life? Of myself. I am afraid to write and to do. I am afraid to exist.
For the first time in my life, I am building dreams of my own. I built many things for others and I am just starting to understand what a comfort that was. Building somebody else’s dreams is safe. Building my dreams is dangerous. Love for these dreams of mine is not guaranteed.
Except that it is.
The only love my dreams need in order to exist is mine.