Open Secret

Typing in the dark. Romance.

I starve myself as punishment. Lately, I have been starving myself for pleasure. I told him I don’t believe in telling boys I like my insecurities after he woke up in my bed. I made him play Dutch Blitz hours before, in the early hours of the morning. He said he’d wait for me after work on Tuesday.

It is easier with him. Multiple friends have told me, in other words, how good he is. I am whispering and retracting, “he’s too good for me.” My happiness is genuine and my anxiety is contained. I think my friends can notice, and they believe it too.

The last boy I dated forced nonexistence onto me, and here, we haven’t delicately discussed our nature or decided on any terms. This time I don’t care. As I said, it’s easier with him.

I was starving myself for pleasure, but now only half the effort. A coworker told me I am the example of confidence. I told her, I fake it to make it. The more I pretend to not care so he doesn’t notice, the less I care. I have lived that philosophy for years, but I feel I need to hold it dear now.

Everybody always says it’s a change, but I only feel like less of a fraud.

Bare, I hope I haven’t jinxed it.