I left a conversation today as if I had escaped a predator. Exposed and vulnerable, I walked away doing my very best to make clear what had just transpired. The words that I spoke were of my voice and mood, but seemed completely foreign to me in reflection. It was as if I had stepped into the role of a character I had not fully written, the details of their face still missing. Yet I was inclined to fill his shoes, to become that persona that could best uphold a conversation that I had to speak without any bearings of what direction it was heading.
So I became instinctual. I called upon my rawest and truest self to make up for the blinding self-doubt. My language became abstract and emotional, connecting to lyric and rhythm instead of logic. It was the line of rope in the encroaching storm, knowing there would be no chance to successfully navigate through it, I hoped simply instead to survive.
It ended pleasantly, after all it was only a conversation, but I had come out of it with my heart beating just a little faster than it did before.