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...