What are you so afraid of?

As if the more I ask, 

the more I will become overnight.

As if a shooting star could

shine among the constellations, 

telling me that they're all wrong.

Telling me that they don't know 

the way home.

That I am home

with the door locked 

and no spare key. 

That the fire is still on.

That the shower is still running.

That the lamp bulb is still burning,

as bright as ever.

As if the more I ask, 

the more I'll see 

that I'm only afraid 

of me

and everything I forgot I was 

or could be. 

This poem is about: 


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