Fear keeps us safe. It blankets us like a cloak – like it’s five below outside. A shield protecting us from all that threatens. A cage to keep things in, and to also keep them out. But the trepidation creeps up my throat with an acidity that burns. Singeing my senses. It’s suffocating. The fog blinding. And the silence deafening. Fight, flight, or freeze. What if I do all three at once? The war in my mind much greater, more dangerous than anything. Trying its hardest to be anywhere but the present, yet my feet remain glued to the ground. An unfortunate predicament when your body can’t seem to figure out what will keep it safe. So, a timer. Seventy-four milliseconds to register fear. Four hundred milliseconds to register pain. Twenty milliseconds to register love – much too reckless. Fear thinks things through. Calculating the moment it hits you over the head with a bat. The sole reminder: a bump that swells. Maybe next time we’ll react sooner. We didn’t even stand a chance. Twenty milliseconds to initiate an involuntary reflex. For all we knew, it was love, which is the only thing more consistent and persistent than fear. Yet still the unease is the only known. The only form of comfort in the dark. It hides underneath the bed while we are sleeping. Holds dreams captive. Clings like barnacles. Alive and stuck. But it is the only way for survival. So it takes root and filters out the grime. Unnoticed, until it’s not. A fine line between intention and infestation.