Some call them nerves, but I prefer butterflies. The fluttering, panicking, terror of potential. The sparkle of destiny hidden from our eyes behind the looming shadow of defeat.

Maybe fate is predetermined.

Maybe your future is random.

All you can control is your perception.

That feeling you have might be anxiety imbued by impending failure, ridicule or near-certain doom.

Perhaps it’s nothing more than pent up energy from wings you’ve never had the courage to use.

Photo credit: Jabiz Raisdana

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