an old piece of writing

i used to be afraid of escalators because i thought if i fell i would fall forever.
and then i was afraid of deep water and not being able to see the bottom of the ocean because i thought i could disappear into the dark folds of the sea
oh, i feared anything that i didn’t know much about.
i was drunk on knowledge for years, intoxicated by the smell of encyclopedias and the black ink marching along the thin pages.
i was scared of oncoming traffic, and of long division, being able to see people’s ribs, dancers, pointy shoes, molasses, not being able to do anything, becoming paralyzed.
i was afraid of attending the cinema because i worried i wouldn’t like the film, and my money would have been wasted.
the realization came slow, like a rainy morning with no sunlight, that the fear was not something i needed, though my body seemed to thrive on it
i melted away from terror
i was lonely, but i was happy, for a while anyway.

i am motivated to do nothing but sit inside and watch the cars go by, alongside the jews in their tall hats. and i wish singing didn’t mean you had to make sound.