My fear is not having a great idea for a story, a play, a musical, or a novel. Ever.

My fear is to have the talent to write something and have nothing to write about.
My fear is not to have the talent.

My fear is walking through life leaving nothing.
My fear is walking through life leaving children who are uninspired and yearning.
My fear is walking through life leaving unhappy children.

My fear is floating through life making neither and impression or being impressed up.

My fear is floating upon dark clouds.

My fear is never fully finding out why I have entire years of memories that are lost.
My fear is I will get so caught up in the daily nothingness that I will forget to write down the somethings, the anythings.

My fear is screaming into a howling wind until my throat is raw and the wind continues to howl.
My fear is having nothing to scream about.
My fear is only having things to scream about.

My fear is that I am a compromise.
My fear is that I am a vortext.

My fear is being alone.
My fear is being crowded.
My fear is not mattering.