I tell my therapist that I connected with someone.
No, I mean we really, unequivocally, like, went together, I tell her.
Now they leave me on read, a prickly silence.
It takes me 15 minutes to explain not only what that means
But what an anxiety-inducing affront it is.
She nods knowingly.
It’s happened to us all at one time or another. It’s a part of life.
When she opens her mouth again, my mother's voice comes out: “Hey, I told you not to swat at the wasps if they fly around you. Wasps sting you!”
I want to appear brave, so I swallow hard, taking with it the tears and unsaid words: I know that this happens. I just didn’t know it would hurt this much.
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