Gregory Todd Williams

I worry about who I am and who I appear to be. I worry about who I hurt, and who I disappoint. I worry that your words and your actions aren’t the same, and that maybe your words, which I treasure so much, are just that. I worry that talk is cheap, and writing is powerful, but your talk might reflect what your writing never will. I worry that my private self is still private, and that I retreat into the comfort of using this medium solely for technical ramblings. I worry that these feelings are real, and if I don’t write them down, they’ll consume me.

I worry that everything I feel in need of is so precariously balanced that any failing might cause it all to go wrong.

I worry.

And these feelings well up inside of me and all I can do is grab at the air as the moments go shooting past.