I'm jealous. Because I know that I can no longer be seen this way by you. I'm not mysterious or unpredictable or tempting anymore. Maybe I was once (but maybe that's just me flattering myself), but it's just something that it's not possible for me to be that way now. You know me, and you know my habits, and, to put it simply, you have me in every applicable sense of the word. There's no discovery left (which is really terrifying, but that's another blog post entirely).
I'm not afraid that you're going to all of a sudden hate me or that you're suddenly going to just disappear because something small displeases you. But what I am afraid of is that you're going to find someone more interesting, someone more exciting, someone more alluring than me. Which, to be perfectly frank, really isn't that hard to do. Especially not when I can no longer offer surprises the way other people can.
And that's part of why this summer was so nice. It was old and comfortable and familiar. There were no new people to meet or new activities to engage in. It was simple. Maybe using the word jealous at the beginning of the post was a bad choice. The point is, I'm scared of what happens when you meet new and interesting people and I'm still just...me.
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