“Do you want to know what scares me the most?” -she asked softly; her voice hoarse and barely audible.
“Yes”, he responded, sympathizing. She refused to look at him.
She’d been crying.
Taking a long moment, she then turns to look at him, her watery, puffy eyes searching his.
“One day, I will die, and nobody will ever know how I feel.
Death is not what scares me; but knowing, that nobody has understood what I have spent all my life longing to express…
I will die misunderstood.
And That scares me.”