The chorus rallied, furious.He doesn’t know you. He knows curated answers and filtered photos and the way you write when you’re calm. He hasn’t seen this. If he did, he’d bolt.
Tears spilled, faster now, dripping off my jaw onto the back of my hand.
Me: How? Why?
The questions still spilled, begging for answers I’d never received. A tear fell on the screen as I typed, smearing the letters. I wiped it away with the side of my wrist, clumsy and frantic.
Another notification.
Read: Because you’re wonderful.
Lies.
Read: And smart.
Lies.
Read: And so damn kind.
LIES.
The chorus snapped back to full volume, shrill with outrage. Unreality surged. It felt like standing in a room full of mirrors and watching all of them crack in different directions, none of them reflecting the same person back.
Too cold.
Too much.
Too demanding.
Read: And perfect.
The voices lunged for that one, eager to shred it.
The sound that escaped me was half laugh, half sob. “Now I know you’re delusional,” I said, the words trembling.
Perfecthad never been mine. It had always belonged to someone else—someone calmer, gentler, more accommodating. Someone who knew how to want without swallowing the room.
Ping.
Read: Please. Please let me help you.
Me: I don’t know how.
The truth came out stripped of defense before I could coat it in sarcasm. There it sat, black on white, the simplest admission I’d ever made and the hardest.
Ping.
Read: We can figure that out together. One step at a time.
Together.
I curled my free hand into a fist, nails digging into my palm until the sting anchored me more than any mantra.He must be lying, the chorus muttered, but they sounded… quieter. Farther away. They groped for old ammunition.He’ll leave. They all do. He just wants the story. He just wants to feel like a good person.
Ping.
Read: So for now, take one measured breath in. Then one out. Then tell me how you’re feeling. For real.
I closed my eyes.
