What do the wordless write?
I want to write honesty. I want to write that which is not numbness or fear. And I would prefer to write that which is not vacillation. But I do not know if it is possible to write so without an inconsistency. Not yet. Not as I am. Not with my soul as it is; so other than I would have it be.
I am scared of the flux inside of me. The bursts of bravery that pull me out of the tarpits are good things, but my confidence fades a little with every repetition. The first time one is rescued, all hope and optimism is renewed. The second and the third time likewise. But let a person be rescued fifty times, and rather than feeling gratitude for their salvation, they are likely to experience only apprehension. The man who has escaped the lion's den once counts himself blessed. The man who has escaped the lion's den fifty times is more likely to deem himself cursed. It is hardly good luck to require rescue so many times. I lose faith in my resilience.
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