Flirting in Space

Being scared is the easy way out. It’s a convenient space where I can plant excuses, each one rational, each one external. Fear gives me something else to blame.

I think I could do with less dreaming. My phantoms soar too high, leaving my world grounded, unmoving. I dream so much that I forget to step back into reality, to cross that line. My dreams, my solace, are also my chains. I am my own worst enemy, standing before a clear solution yet unwilling to move.

Sometimes, having no solution feels simpler. When there’s no way out, there’s no option to hesitate, no mirage to chase. But the moment clarity pierces through, faint and murky though it is, why does the next step feel so much harder?

My dreams are feasible – as is all that comes with the power of free will. They are tangible but are weighed down by the inertia I create. I convince myself I’m stuck in quicksand, but the truth is worse: I’m the one who hooked the chain and fastened the ball to my own foot. And now I drown, not in water, but in a pool of my own making, where mirages glimmer and recede.