I Write
A door creaking in the blackness. A loud bang in the middle of the night. A strange whisper as you're just about to fall asleep. A warm breath against the back of your neck even though you're alone. A thought that sends a jolt of anxiety through your blood, making your heart race and your hands tremble.
We tell ourselves it's nothing. It's just our imagination. Our mind playing tricks on us. We attempt to laugh the fear away, brushing it into the corner with the cobwebs and the crumbs. But what we fail to realise is that's where it lives and thrives. That's where it grows stronger and finds more pathways to lay in wait and then travel along.
It's not nothing. It's not our imagination. It's not a trick of the mind. It's slowly killing us one creaking door, one bang, one whisper, one warm breath and one thought at a time. To deny it, is to give it power. To doubt it is to give it strength. It will creep through every fibre of your soul, fuelling itself on your pulse, until your body runs cold.
We tell ourselves it's nothing. It's just our imagination. Our mind playing tricks on us. We attempt to laugh the fear away, brushing it into the corner with the cobwebs and the crumbs. But what we fail to realise is that's where it lives and thrives. That's where it grows stronger and finds more pathways to lay in wait and then travel along.
It's not nothing. It's not our imagination. It's not a trick of the mind. It's slowly killing us one creaking door, one bang, one whisper, one warm breath and one thought at a time. To deny it, is to give it power. To doubt it is to give it strength. It will creep through every fibre of your soul, fuelling itself on your pulse, until your body runs cold.
