How often do people ask themselves what their fears are? I feel like it’s a question I try to answer every day. There are the simple answers: frogs, heights, and that clown from the Steven King movie, things that are tangible. Then there’s that fear that doesn’t make sense to anyone but me because they’ve never loved you like I do. It’s the fear that you’ll end up married to some douchebag ex-football star with a couple of shitty kids that don’t appreciate you in a two-story house with an ugly dog trying to convince yourself that this is what life is supposed to be like, that you’re happy…and I’ll be sitting on razed dreams, wishing I had taken a moment to tell you that you are smart and beautiful in ways that you don’t let anyone see. I will wish that I had told you that you’re worth so much more than you believe. I will wish that I had said the words “I love you, always” and never given up until you didn’t have to convince yourself you were happy. You just were. I’m afraid that because I was too afraid of heartbreak that I’m the one who will never be happy, not without you.