In the strange comfort and familiarity of empty rooms is where I begin.

I second-guess every single letter of ever single word, plotting out branches and trees of possible reactions and thoughts. My walls are covered with these. The leaves in each split of the tree spell out words of amusement, confusion, wonder, disbelief, and sometimes hate.

I'm too scared to say what I want to say, to push out whatever is on the tip of my tongue. I scalded my tongue the other night drinking something.

I step off the face of this cliff, without a parachute or wings or a jetpack.

I need to take a chance card.

I need to risk things.