Someone said to me, I don't know who you are anymore.
Which is funny, because I feel more like myself than I have in awhile.
What's the difference between trying new things and knowing yourself well enough not to?
Am I who I say I am?
I am not sure.
Sometimes the narrative I tell myself is false, or fanciful. Or manipulative, skirting facts, omitting the ugly and true.
The lie detector might be a friend's change of expression. An underlying feeling of dis-ease.
Friday night, at a friend's house, a man demanded: where's your significant other?
I said, unoffended: I am my significant other.
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