Wanting things is scary.  If you allow yourself to want something, and really feel the desire, there is always the prowling possibility that you might not get what you want.  The menacing disappointment waits in the wings like a jealous understudy, lurking, sulking, ready to devour your audacity.

The burns of rejection and the scabs of frustration take time to heal.  With each rebuff it gets harder and harder to risk the potential pummeling of your heart. Fear creeps into inspiration, trepidation seeps through motivation; the past pains tainting future aspirations.

Do I dare let myself care again?

But what if everything works out? What if you get what you want? Is that ever enough, or does that taste of satisfaction fade leaving an insatiable hunger in its wake?  Does getting what you want just make you want more?