OfPonderingWandering

Emotional Risks | 11:48pm, Thursday June 18th, 2026.

I told her it all,
Or pretty much it all.

I found what was at the bottom of the barrel,
And I gorged it out.

I showed her the bloodied remains,
Under the mild light of introspection.

A single guiding star,
“I am defective; I am unloveable.”

~

I’ve known her for years,
Four to be exact.

She’s always been there for me,
And she’s helped me become who I am.

She is my therapist after all,
But even then…

I still have issues opening up,
Like there’s a frog stuck in my throat.

~

And this issue extends past her,
To anyone and everyone in my life.

I suppose it’s always been this way,
From a child at play,
To an adult forfeiting his say.

“God forbid I open up”
And risk rejection.

“God forbid I am met with evidence”
Which seems to prove,
I am unlovable.

~

Yet life and experience flows on,
No matter how hard I try to stop it.

I will be met with,
Equal parts love,
And equal parts rejection.

For each instance,
Holds a thousand and one stories.

Which write up,
Both You and Me.

~

In each instance,
I am met with ambiguity.

Anxiety– fear– jumps,
And the stories write themselves.

And I retract,
Like a turtle into his shell.

Yet I forget,
I am the author,
And I am the reader.

The beginning,
And the end. 

~

She told me,
After the tears subsided.

That true healing,
Can only occur in Sangha.

Between humans,
A connection grows.

Which nourishes the thorns of yesterday,
Into the roses of today.

~

She looked me in the eyes,
And told me these lines,

“My Therapist told me,
Many moons ago,
‘My single wish for you,
Be it a romantic relationship–
Or any relationship,
Is for you to take more emotional risks.’”

…

“Now,
Isn’t a relationship a goal of yours?”

Yes, it has been for years,
But im struggling,
To even open up to my peers.

“I understand,
The fear which holds you back.
And I know,
That at your core,
You want someone to hold you.”

Yes.

“And I know,
That you know,
What it is you must do:

To look into someone’s eyes and truly be vulnerable.”

Epilogue: Holding myself accountable.

I sit here,
On a razor’s edge.

Between,

Comfort and knowing–
That’ll die without a taste of life.

And

Discomfort and not knowing,
What lies beyond. 

I am scared,
For the key rests within my shaking hands,
I see two doors,
Each of which are permissible.

I wonder if I can trust myself,
The same one,
Who many years ago,
Wrote down in his journal,

“Hard choices, easy life. 
Easy choices, hard life.”

(Wayne Gretsky)

Not knowing,
The full brevity,
Of that quote’s space.

So here I am,
Posting this.

-k