The Way I Love (and Fear)

I love the water. 

All of it. 

The running water of the river, 

the pull and push of the sea, 

the stillness of a pool.

And the rain, God, the rain. 

It wakes everything up, 

turns the world green again, 

fills the air with that smell, 

the one that makes me breathe deeper, 

like my lungs finally understand how.

I love music, 

even if music doesn’t always love me back. 

My voice stumbles where others soar, 

but I still hum along, 

still press my fingers to the piano keys, 

teaching myself the language of sound 

because I need it, 

because I love it, 

because it’s mine.

I love the summer sunsets, 

the way they melt into the sky, 

soft and golden, 

like the world is tucking itself in. 

Winter ones? Too cold. Too sharp. 

Like they don’t know how to say goodbye gently.

I hate the sun, 

except when it flickers through the trees, 

catching my skin in little golden spots.

Then, just for a second, I forgive it.

I am afraid of heights. 

Not the falling, 

the knowing I might have to jump. 

I am afraid of losing people. 

Not the leaving, 

the knowing I wouldn’t know how to stay behind.

But I love. 

And I fear. 

And I keep singing anyway.

Written: 2025