Loving in Fear

Because this is how we all (should) love.

As I climbed into bed, and as I pressed my body against your sleeping body, bare skin upon bare skin, gently, silently — like how darkness falls on the surface of the Earth when dawn reverses at dusk — you stayed still, asleep, in your dreams.

I put my arms around your body, kissed the nape of your neck, and resisted the tears that threatened to spill.

Because every time we touch, there’s a connection, so fragile and delicate. And I am always afraid that the moment I remove myself from you, that connection might break, and I would be disconnected from you for good.

Because in love, I am fearing. And in fear, I love.

We all do, love in this way. If not, then it’s not love. Because in love, we realize that we have found something so precious, however small and little and invisible.

Something not constant, stagnant or permanent. Something that is alive, breathing. Something that can run away, or die on us.

Something that can hurt us as tangibly as a sharp knife to the gut or chest, or however gently, like a paper-cut on a fingertip.

Something that stings, that hurts.

I realized that love is not as invincible, powerful and indestructible as how I would like it to be. One wrong word during a bicker could be all it takes for the whole situation to snowball into an unsalvageable mess, which eventually results in love’s death — it just happens.

Love can also crumble and fall apart so unnoticeably, like an old watch that slowly runs out of battery. Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock, stop. And when love leaves you, there’s always a price to pay.

As my lips left your skin, I felt a cut inside. Like some part of me peeled off and got absorbed into you.

Is it that as I love, and as the more I do, the less of me gets left behind?

But then I realize, the more of you I receive in return.

We can’t love without fear. Fear keeps us feeling alive, on the edge. It keeps us awake, and wary that what can be gained can be lost as well. It keeps us wanting more, in case what we have depletes too quickly when least noticed. These chances we can’t take. We all want to be full, to feel loved and wanted.

Fear makes us want to cherish every fleeting second, because what if the next second, love doesn’t return? And what if what we have left is emptiness, a void that needs to be filled so urgently but to no avail we find the exact thing that it needs?

Sometimes we chase after things only when they are already lost, long gone.

But to love in fear is not to be afraid of doing things out of love. Even if you are afraid, still, do it afraid. Do it even so.

Don’t let fear stop you from loving.

Love, in spite of yourself, in spite of fear. Love in fear — in the fear of losing control, in fear of losing love.

Because being in fear makes it real.

It makes you real.