I took a picture of a picture a few weeks ago.

There was a photo exhibit called "Vivid" at the Paseo place at the Boulevard.

Three photographers displayed their best work, and I admired them for it.

This particular one caught my eye...the depth of focus and the black and white elements made for a picture that was riveting. It "grabs" you due to the simplicity of the elements, and the focus point, the heart. 

It's either that, or, in my current state, I am partial to themes of love, and longing in the literature I prefer to read nowadays. There is a time when we need to use other people's words to make sense of what we are feeling inside. And oftentimes, to let people know how we feel inside.  

What used to come easily for me in the past is now a struggle. Perhaps I have grown older, and matured, but in the same vein, I feel that I may have lost that essential intrepid nature when writing. I seem to be wrapped up in the fear of rejection. The fear of not knowing, and maybe the fear of knowing that the possible outcome might not be what I want. 

I have gone through much pain and rejection in my life, and I think that it may have been the fodder for which I feel that I may not be strong enough for even more possible deluges. I find it harder and harder to take risks. 

I find it harder and harder to take chances. 

A friend of mine (whose opinion I trust because it is a purely platonic friendship) has told me that sometimes I just have to "go for it", if it doesn't work, I'll survive, but if it does, I could end up being happy. 

That's the scariest thing in the world...taking a chance.

Like being on a precipice, and deciding whether you should just free-fall.

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This is the scary thought of the day.