The last few days she'd been concentrated on a certain topic and the messiness seemed to have been poured into a river of reasoning oriented to a certain place, running parallel with the route where the shadows persist, which had detached her from her, so she did not know how to formulate the start. She rolled the dice and they were scattered into pieces. However, she decided to begin with 'scared', although the actual beginning was a word of laziness. She is scared, which happens not often, but now she is. She is afraid that she's been lancing herself so fearlessly into something that would finally turn out to be uncontrollable. But isn't what she expected? Perhaps the shape of the unknown has undergone some hardly inappreciable change, transformed from the wide opening where things happen to the wide open where things may not happen; or perhaps it is the emergence of a visible, still ambiguous but detected outline of the shape that freaks her out. It becomes explicit enough to be actually spoken out. Either way, the result is the fear that she's never experienced. It is as if she could be comfortably floating on the surface of a sea of chaos, letting it take her wherever, but all would become unbearable once she is rescued onto the deck of a ship and told that she would be taken somewhere safely, and she would probably jump back into the water. Why does materializing something appear to her like a threat? Perhaps because now she prefers staying in the background. There was a time when she was on the spot light and she thought it was being so that she enjoyed until one day she came to the realization that it was being lightened by that specific light that really mattered, so once the light changed, being on the spot light did not mean as much. She kept believing if she stayed in the background and refusing to come out of the darkness, it would be easier to locate that light again, because in the somberness you may see clearly. But now she is scared as she is stepping out, which she knows necessary but that gives her the chill in the backbone. What if you cannot shape it into the form you have in mind? What if the final product is a total fiasco, or even worse, too concrete to be destroyed?
