Dear you,
I think you made me forget myself for a moment.
You were just so easy to talk to.
So I moved a little closer.
Just an inch, I said.
I let one more thought slip out than I usually would. I laughed a little louder. I lingered a little longer. I told you something I probably could have kept to myself. I stopped editing every sentence before it reached my mouth, because for a little while, talking to you didn't feel like something I had to get right.
I thought maybe we were becoming the kind of people who could talk without thinking about talking.
Maybe that was all I wanted.
A conversation that didn't feel like a conversation. Something more familiar. More casual. The kind where you don't have to wonder whether you've said too much because somehow, without either of you deciding it, you've become comfortable enough that too much doesn't exist.
So I gave you an inch of myself.
And then you looked at me.
And I don't even know what was different about the way you looked at me. Maybe nothing was. Maybe you didn't mean anything by it. Maybe this entire humiliation happened somewhere between your expression and my imagination.
But suddenly, I could see myself from the outside.
And God, I felt ridiculous.
Too eager. Too familiar. Too open.
Like I had mistaken your kindness for an invitation.
Like I had walked through a door you never actually opened.
And now I'm sitting here wondering when exactly I became someone who needed to be embarrassed by being comfortable with you.
Dear you,
I wish I could tell you that I didn't care.
That I went home and forgot about it.
That I didn't replay the conversation in my head, picking apart every little thing I said, every bad joke, every laugh, every unnecessary detail, every moment I thought I saw you look at me differently.
But I did.
I went back over myself.
And I hated how easy it was to find things to be embarrassed about.
Why did I say that?
Why did I laugh like that?
Why did I keep the conversation going?
Why did I think you wanted to know me a little more
Why did I think I could relax?
It is strange how quickly a person can make you feel safe and how much quicker they can make you regret feeling that way.
Because I don't think I gave you that much.
That is the ridiculous part.
I didn't hand you my heart. I didn't tell you all my secrets. I didn't suddenly become some completely different version of myself.
I just gave you an inch.
A little less guarded than usual.
A little more talkative.
A little more me.
And somehow, that little inch now feels like I crossed a line.
So I have been trying to take it back.
I have been putting the pieces of myself back where they were before you made me comfortable enough to move them.
I am measuring my words again.
Laughing a little quieter.
Thinking twice before I tell you something.
Leaving things unsaid even when I want to say them.
And pretending I don't notice you.
Pretending I didn't enjoy talking to you.
Pretending I didn't think, for a brief and stupid little moment, that maybe you enjoyed talking to me too.
I think that's what embarrasses me most.
The fact that I thought you might want to see it
That I mistook ease for closeness.
That I let myself believe there could be a version of us where conversation was effortless and neither of us had to stand at the edge of ourselves, wondering whether it was safe to take another step.
And now I don't know what to do with the inch I gave you.
Because I can't exactly ask for it back.
I can only hope you don't notice that I've started taking the rest of myself away.
i promise, you will get over almost anything once you write about it.
🖤
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