with our feet firmly planted on the ground,

The gaps between the urges to cry grow longer each month. I am not sure if that is good, but I choose to see it as growth regardless.

Sometimes I feel like I am running away from questions that wish to ask other people. Other times, I am running away from the answers I know I will get. Maybe that is why I choose not to ask anymore. Maybe that is also why I am choosing not to approach those I have given so much energy to. I know I will not get anything in return, but why does it have to be treated as a transaction?

Am I ready to accept the answers to the questions I want to ask? What do I want to ask? Am I just running away to find refuge? Is refuge an arbitrary term signifying avoidance?

I wish to ask some people if my efforts are worth the time. It is hard for me to say there is no ulterior motive—I could be lying, but I could also be telling the truth.

I am choosing to look elsewhere and avoid the question entirely.

I cannot say how long I can keep running from the truths I have chosen to ignore. Someone once said that if I am not willing to make a decision, something else will decide for me. I am not sure if I am ready to accept that reality.

We are small compared to what we aspire and hope to attain. We are infinitesimal compared to everything that surrounds us. I am unsure if what I fear is just as big.

Maybe this fear is unreasonable.

I realize the sooner I acknowledge the question I wish to ask certain people, the sooner I will feel less pressure to keep avoiding the answers I know I will receive.

I am good only at running away from the answers I do not want to hear.