The thing is . . . I’m just not open.
I thought I could be. With a few quick stretches and reflex checks, I realized the muscles still worked. I remembered the steps; could fall easily into the waltz of asking and revealing; enticing from a safe distance.
It was like riding a bike.
Until I said too much.
How do I explain?
I fell into a routine. A self whose lines I’d crafted and memorized years ago. The me I was the last time I did this dance.
And while this new self remains an unanswered question, I know she has no room for the woman who showed up in those conversations.
I’m just not that open anymore.
Day One of the #30Layers30Days writing challenge by @ggreneewrites on Instagram.