the fear of wasted wonder 

i want to do so many things.
it’s like there’s this fire under my skin—
ideas, dreams, versions of myself i haven’t even met yet.
they’re all screaming for a chance to breathe.

but then comes the fear.
loud, paralyzing, convincing.

what if i choose wrong?
what if i pour myself into something that doesn't give back?
what if i waste the little time i have chasing something
that only felt right in the moment?

i hate that i hesitate.
i hate that my own mind makes me doubt
the very things that once made my heart race.
because now, even passion feels risky.
even joy feels like a gamble.

i keep asking myself—
what if i give too much to the wrong thing?
what if i invest in a version of me
that ends up being just a dead end?

and it's not just about time.
it's about energy.
it's about hope.

i’m scared of giving my all to something
and ending up tired,
disappointed,
and further from where i wanted to be.

people say “you’ll never know until you try,”
but trying costs.
trying means giving up time you’ll never get back.
trying means opening your chest up
just enough for disappointment to crawl in.

and so i sit with this weight.
the weight of wanting to do everything
and the fear of ending up with nothing.

i’ve never really told anyone how much this eats at me.
how often i think about the future
not with excitement,
but with anxiety disguised as caution.

i wish i had the kind of certainty
that lets people leap without looking back.
instead, i have this cautious ache.
this endless what-if that holds me hostage.

and maybe that’s the most painful part—
knowing i could be so much more
if only i wasn’t so scared of losing
the little that i already am.

i want to live a life that’s full.
but i keep holding back,
afraid that if i run too fast toward the things i love,
i’ll end up lost
in the very places that once felt like home.

so i stay here.
stuck between wonder and fear.
between all the things i want to be
and all the time i’m afraid to waste becoming them.