I imagine sometimes that I am brave. Not like, ‘die hard’ brave. (I don’t like rifles, blood, and killing.).
I imagine I’m brave enough for cuts. For a fist on the table. For ‘enough’. Removing what suffocates, restrains, lightly kills.
I imagine I’m brave. Really cocky. Not to give second, third, fourth, fifth chances.
I imagine sometimes that I am brave. Not to believe unconditionally. Not to hope in vain. To cross. To forget forever.
I imagine I’m brave. To have balls, to return to rudeness with rudeness. That I’m not polite to the rude. To give back what I get. To make them laugh in their faces.
I imagine being brave for the middle finger, to all those who deserve it. Without thinking. Without maybe. Without what if….
I imagine that I am brave enough not to kill myself by agreeing to compromises. That I have understanding for others, as much as others show it to me. To have respect for them, as much as I receive it.
(Not a gram more.)
I imagine that I am at least so brave to change myself, because of everything that cannot be changed.
I imagine… that I am brave for myself !!!
(The way I am brave for others.)
And I become brave!