Another Reason

Perhaps, this was what I wanted all along. Even as fear overwhelms me, somehow, I manage to pick up the pen, and write the words that flow easily to me. Is this the raw emotion that I thought I never had?

Perhaps, this ramble isn't enough. Maybe with all the things I've done; with all the things I could've done, I still can't find the words to properly express how I feel. Maybe, there's a reason to all this.

Perhaps, this is fate. To trudge on, having doubts in my mind, learning the things I can't do but want to. Listening to those tunes that inspire me, feeling me with purpose, a thought turned into a story, that never felt weird to my heart.

Perhaps, I'm delusional. Thinking that this skill of mine would be honed in time. The clock ticks unbiased and unforgivingly, enforcing panic in my head. This prison of mine, inescapable and bleak.

Perhaps, I'm overthinking it. Learning something new is tough, and the inability to do it frightens me. It can't be done overnight, yet how long would it take? At 20 years of age, I'm frightened, horrified, finding another meaning to brighten this dull world of mine.
Maybe, I was meant to do this. The only way I can express myself, the only way I can communicate these thoughts that are in constant disarray. It is a long road ahead of me, I'm afraid of what's to come, yet excited of what's next. This journey that I find myself in, laid so blatantly in front of me yet oblivious to its hardship. Can I really do this?

Still, I chose this. I chose this path, I chose to do this, I chose to write my heart out, to lay bare my feelings, my thoughts, my stories, my dreams, all into text. There's no other way around it. I can't just let go, I won't. This isn't how I let my dream die.