Perhaps it is the fear of knowing the truth, and that truth is what I've imagined and feared, that I pull myself away from the falling deeper, knowing that I was probably thinking too much, assuming that things happened even though they might not have happened in the first place.
Perhaps it is the fear of losing him even as a friend, that I try not to probe too much, asking about things he might not want to say, questioning his words wondering if they are honest and real.
Perhaps it is the fear of falling too fast and sinking too deep, that I struggle to get out, only to fall over and over again. Twisting and turning my body like a professional contortionist, only to fall over and over again.
When love pulls you in like quicksand, and the only way to get out is to stay still and take your time, get to the edge and play a slow game of tug-o-war. And when you finally get yourself out, you ought to feel relieved and free but you find bruises on your hands, your body sore and fatigued from the struggles. You know you've gained freedom once again, yet etched in your mind you've gained fear too. Lost something during the struggles, maybe a shoe or a sock, or maybe a part of you still trapped on the bed of the quicksand. And the fear still haunts you till this very day, telling you "This is dangerous, never ever step inside again."
God, I wished I learnt.
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