Meeting Sickness at the Fork of the Road


I smile to myself realizing the civil war happening inside. I've been there for quite a number of time. Precisely that at the onset of its becoming, I readily recognize it. I smile because I am happy. I also smile because I am wary. I smile because I sense my weakness arising. That's the way I express myself, ever since.

I am happy to have met you. I am excited knowing you each new day. I am glad that our roads have crossed.

But I am wary. I am not sure how intimate we could become. I can tolerate becoming acquainted. I do not know if I can handle gut level conversations with you. I am afraid of becoming familiar.

I am afraid of being defined. I am becoming. If you managed to define me, then I fear that I have ceased growing. Your Monalisa smile will make me paranoid. What does it mean? Does it mean that I am known by you? Does it mean that death is nearing my door?

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