vulnerability.

the craving of it. the salvation for it. the imagination traveling miles across grey matter to satiate it’s definition of it. the salacious sagacity that is honesty, pure unadulterated soul-bearing truth between two persons. we all want it so bad. it’s the deepest form of intimacy but why is it that whatever we need from others so badly we fear to show ourselves. is it that we’d prefer to be poured into, that we’d rather hollow ourselves for others to fill, leaving the responsibilities in our hands while we numb ourselves because of past let downs? so much so that our numbness grows legs and takes on a face of it’s own? are we afraid to strip away the guards and become the thing we hate the most which is honest? with ourselves? with our families? with our loves? and where does this fear come from? where did it start? when did stifling the ickiest yet most tremendous parts of ourselves become a thing? vulnerability is truthfully the most scariest things but it is the mother of all things creative, all things loving and truthful. I want to exist in that non perfect place of whole-ness that comes with being open. I need this.