mmmdiii

The Two Things That Frighten Me Most

what strikes
the most fear
in me? you
might ask.
and i don’t
mind reveal
ing my deep
est fears, it’s
really very simple,
even, and here’s what
they are: Death and Love.

Death makes sense,
you might say, and of
course you’re just a bit
too wary, upon quick
reflection that Love
does, too, but you
keep that thought
tucked away in
your head as
you allow 

me to
explain.

well, it’s
really very
simple, it’s
Death and
Love that
give me the
highest levels
of anxiety and
the longest
durations
of pause.

Death, for
reasons i’d
assume stay
more at number 

one at the top 

of most
everyone’s
list (be it
week after
week after
week with
no move
ment or
aggregately
with a few
minor dips
before ri
sing back
to the top
with a bullet
where it there
fore remains
on the whole).

but why?
you might
ask, and
the ans
wers are
easy if not
a bit num
erous: it’s
because of
the pain,
it’s because
of the limit
less options
there are
by which
a poor
soul might
find it, it’s
because of
the nasty
and horrid
unknown
(will it be
in my sleep,
might it be
met by a
literal
weapon,
like, say,
for example,
the hands
of a human
by strangu
lation or
a sword that
someone’s
hand might
thrust in such
a mean way that
in so doing, con
nects me dir
ectly by way 
of mortal perp
etrator and
vile liaison to
the great
beyond, or
by way of
shrapnel
by gun or
by cannon
or such,
whether with
or without in
tent, could my
great termina
tion come by
way of a slew
of misshapen
pieces or by one
singular, abrupt,
miniscule piece?
it could be by dis

ease during which
there’d be a cres
cendo of pain that 

goes on for some
years or be
quick as a
head-on
collision of
automobiles
at some in
determinate
intersection
or in one that
is stretched
as if in slow
motion while
driving off the
road and then
diving down
some mag
nificently
elevated
cliff or off
a long and
(in)famous
bridge?

not only is
there no way
of ascertaining,
there is also
no way to
list all the
possible
ways one
might meet
their bleak
and more
often than
not unde
sirable
destiny,

so to count
er this mad
dening, scary
inevitability, i’d
sincerely advise
that you live ev
ery moment of
life like your last,
because much as
you like, there is
such little chance
that one might
exist but even

a day beyond
death, though
if i had my
druthers, i’d
exist forever,
no matter
that breathing
might get old
and grow tire
some and this
broken down
body become
increasingly
creaky and
tired of it all,
but this Living,
these things
that i’ve yet to
experience: to
Live—that
is all that
there is,
don’t you
know?

or at least all
logic that
our heart
might allow
our dear
brains to
reason should
surely be plenty 

enough motivation 

to take such a

gift as this
life seriously,
doesn’t it seem
so to you as it
does (and with
such clarity) 

to me?

to partake in
the act of just
giving a mod
icum of pleas
ure to someone,
to others, and
just to allow
oneself the
luxury
of one
moment
or two
(or more,
just as
much as
can be
gathered
if one is
lucky
enough!)
of sheer
pleasure,
of the
happiness
that might
come unex
pectedly, as
if out of no
where, or
that is met
ridiculously
planned by
your very
own hands
(and hands
are notorious
for their roles
in such things).
or, and most
especially
if, the joy,
the plea
sure is self
lessly given,
a gift from –
and here is
where my
two great
est fears
butt heads
– someone
you love.

Love, the
most giddy
and human
of joys and
of pleasures,
the best cause
for happiness,
it turns out,
is, as well,
the most
asinine
catalyst
for all of
the things
that are no
good in life,
like the afore
mentioned pain,
and the wretched
emotions, the tears
made of sadness (and
the ones made of joy).
and a great symptom 

of Love, all too often,
as well, can be
that twin fear
we’ve called
Death, but
of course,

so that Love,
that greatest
of things that
can be had
in the duration
of time that is
our own exist
ence is also,
much thanks to
its conniving twin,
and so quite para
doxically, the sin
gular thing that
too often (ass

uredly) can

lead us di

rectly to
our bitter
ends.

and all
the world’s
mysteries,
its secrets
and riddles,
yes all of
the respec
tive keys to
our very un

undoings 

must bow in
obeisance, in
this life, not
to Love but
to its evil
twin – which
is Death, if
you follow –
and all the
way up, no
matter the
journey, un
til He is met,
until Death
doth find us

as naught

but our fi

nal dust,
we each, and
to the best of
our knowledges
do not and

cannot know

that which is be

yond with all we might 

learn this side of that
cursed meeting,
not even a sing
ular clue which
thus far and
until we have
finally breached
it (if even such
miniscule chance
might yet exist).

and so there you
have it, my two
deepest fears. 

the one which 

most all of us 

dreary roman

tics cannot live 

without, and
the other, with
one ill wind, a
lifeless breath,
that must yet

and inevitably
consume (and
therefore erad
icate) each

to a person

of all of

what fleet

ingly is us;

and in but a

blip of an
instant.

and while
those of
us who’ve
grown old
over this
impending,
this all-too-
often disheart
ening battle, while
we might for a moment
or two pause at the 
fact that the existence
of love, just the same as
the existence of self,
can never, not
even once
win in
the end,
while
we’re
caught
in the web
of what’s this side 

of death, we (or

should i more 

clearly say i?) 

will most ass

uredly continue

to aspire towards love
and, god-willing, con
tinue to achieve
it—all the way down
to its bitter, mysterious end.