The way you see me

We talk about so much and so little at the same time, we skirt around issues I consider revealing, you consider honest. Yet you know so much about me, more than I wanted you to and certainly more that I’d like you to. You see me the way I never wanted anyone to see me. You see my vulnerability and my passion, my reasons and my defiance. You know what makes me tick, what gets me riled. When I am up or down, you know it all; you can sense it, better than before. I let the defenses down; it was a momentary loss of fidelity and you walked right through. You impressed me by avoiding and overtaking all the obstacles and stop signs I put up. You disarmed all the alarms and evaded the booby traps. Now you know me.

And I don’t like it one bit; it’s the reason why I can’t look you in the eye anymore. Why I can’t continue this. It’s too close for comfort; you’re too close for comfort. I need that distance, that place within me, where I can be me, without worrying that someone else knows me, knows where and how to find me. But now that’s gone. There are no more pretences that you won’t recognise, no more walls that you won’t get around. It’s disconcerting, you seeing me for what I am. I can see it in your eyes. The eyes that give me the benefit of the doubt, where you once would doubt, accuse and suspect. The eyes that push me to do things you know I want to but will never unless it’s you telling me. It’s there in the hands that hold me the same way as before, but differently still. They linger a second longer than usual and I know why; I can sense it. You want to reassure me, I know, but that’s what’s causing my anxiety. It’s there in the smile, when you see me for the first time in the day. It’s telling, even when you don’t want it to. It’s full of anticipation, hinting at what you’d push me to do today, what you’ll get me to reveal even when I don’t want to. Along with the eyes, they speak untold things that you want from me; they encourage—and I try hard to ignore. It’s there in the kisses, the one thing I thought would remain untainted, but it’s corrupted as well, infected by the hope they now communicate, and I don’t want that.

There’s always been tenderness but this empathy is killing me, slowly.

Like the awkwardness of a morning after, this felling of walls, is hard to get around. I know you know me and that you know that I am aware of this knowledge that you now hold, and I’m trying my hardest to ignore. I’m trying to pretend like it doesn’t exist, it never happened, it doesn’t matter. I’m trying hard to blank it, to play it cool, but now I can no longer do it, there are no more pretences left, no more safe place to go. Remember? You’ve invaded them all. You know me. You see me. You get me.

So you see why I have to stop, why I can’t let this go on. You see me for what I am. I can see the way you see me now, and I don’t like it.

“I can see the way you see me now, and I don’t like it.” I read this line in an article on Elle and thought to weave a perspective around this idea.