I didn’t realize how much I liked control.

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My therapist told me— but that’s different, being in control of my own life, my own decisions. He’s different, for me.

It’s not a crazy thing. I don’t want to keep him on a leash. I don’t want him to have to ask permission for anything ever. I don’t want him to walk on eggshells.

But when he asks me “glasses or contacts” and I see his eyes glitter behind the lenses, when he asks me “which coffee creamer” and I can smell the soft peppermint, when he asks me “do you want to read my essay” and he makes the revisions I suggest— that’s a sucker punch, right there.

(I hope he knows what I mean when I ask him to pick my nail polish, too.)

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