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Scared to ask

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I’m scared to ask how and when I’ll die. Even more terrified of the answer. Strange– because I come off to people as brave.

I’m scared to ask how I’ve wasted my time. On who? What were my options? What would have been the best choice?

I’m scared to ask am I’m living up to my potential? Am I chipping away at my character for the sake of pleasing people? Which is truly more frightening: success or failure? Why have I opted to fail, to stop so many times? Why can’t I stick to something?  Above all, why am I more dedicated to others and their causes than to my own?

When will I uncover my purpose?

When will I make time to listen to the depths of my mind? The faintest whisperings of my heart?

 

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Vagabond hearts are thick as thieves and wander freely

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