“Through fear, a person learns to move. As it is always ‘through’ fear, to be past it, not within it, that life stirs itself inside its own veins. It will be fearlessness, attained, when a person learns to ably spill some blood off their own veins, without tears to add.”
– Modern Romanticism
No one is left alone, without feeling alone. Though, the gullible nature of a simple child, who might find themselves to love themselves, in their mindset of adolescence, have not felt fear. It is fear that stirs life, within its veins. Though, past it, and life is swimming down such crimson cylinders. Then, to lose some of such blood, should not be with the wince, nor with the tears, for that is not fearlessness.
To be numb at the apprehending feeling of fear, before the face of death, is a sign of truest fearlessness.
To live in the fear for another, never for the self, is to know how to be fearless when the self does not matter. That is how such fearlessness is attained. When the self does not matter, manifold injury may be stuck against one’s flesh, and the pain is given more with the response of, “If it is just me, then let it be so.”
This is fearlessness. To be afraid is to be such, for another. Then, to be afraid for the self, is to be a coward. If to be concerned for another is to make one afraid, then one has learned to both love and to be fearless. Content with one’s wounds, and then one is never afraid, for a moment more.
A love, so alike, with the face of another to represent one’s own, that to notice their teardrops will provoke the protector’s face to melt.
Love encourages heroism, not fear. Love, and one learns to be loved. Become the betrayer, and then one learns to resent. Though, one does not know who to resent, when they’ve thought to always live with truth.
Bleed yourself, for another, and then one is fearless, because one’s own bloodstream is not theirs. However, see their blood be flowed, and rage should be inspired in you, the protector’s eyes. Of your own heart which for many years might have pumped the liquids of bravery through you, will always keep you open to this purpose.
The sole consequence is to be left with realizing what remains, should the protector fail.
An avalanche of selfish pain. That is what comes.
Modern Romanticism 