Perfect Fear

I was only on the fourth page or so before I got that choking feeling in my throat.
Twenty seconds later the sob came out. I hardly ever read such honest and vulnerable writing.
Grief has a way of doing that.
I'm reading a book for a new idea that is in my head. I shouldn't say new, it's been in there for awhile, but newish.
I want to be able to write like that. My heart out on the page. My craving is to be understood. My desire is to be noticed. But then I realize the amount of sacrifice that takes. There is a part of me that wants to hold and nurture it all inside. And yet there is a stronger force telling me this must come out, I need to come out. Need to.

So I will write it. There cannot be fear of failure. There cannot be fear. My love for art is becoming a perfect love that constantly casts out fear.