Let’s talk about the need to impress. Let’s talk about dishonesty as a way of ‘bigging yourself up’. Let’s consider the underlying causes, and the future impact of this need.

First impressions count for a lot, or so I’m told. My first impression of you was that you were someone comfortable in your own skin, someone straightforward and open about things. I’m not talking about the impression from a chat room, though I liked what I saw there too, I’m talking about real life.

I saw lots of things I liked, and I think that was you. I love the ‘you’ inside, the ‘you’ you are when we’re together; you’re a special guy. I love the humour, and the wit, and the gentleness when you know it’s needed. I love the way you take my face in your hands and stroke my hair and tell me I’m not ordinary at all. I love staying up late and talking the night away with you, I love feeling protected from the world with your arms around me.

For me, all of this could be enough, but for you it isn’t. For you, there is something else. A need to impress the people you know with a story or a joke. A need to share the intimacy that should be ours alone… but not even to share it honestly. Let’s tell it a different way, let’s change the slant, and it will be so much more interesting!

I warned you once that I don’t live my life online; I like it here, I like to share some things, I like to see what is going on around me. But I wouldn’t share you.

I find that people know more than I think, because you tell them. I hear that things are being exaggerated, or twisted, to suit the purpose: this need to impress. Why do you care? If you are mine, then there is no need to impress another. If I am enough, it shouldn’t matter what other people think. And now I am hurt.

You see, I am ordinary. Just an ordinary girl, living an ordinary life, thinking that I’d found something extraordinary. I don’t love easily or often and, when I do, it is a big thing. I’ll speak from the heart, and I’ll share my secrets, but I expect them to be kept. I feel let down. I feel as if I was never going to be enough, I feel like I was stupid to think that I could be.

So, you see my ‘ordinary’. You see the every day, and you decide you need more. I can’t argue with that, because I have nothing wonderful to offer. You break my trust, and you make me cry, and I feel alone again. I’d have chosen to be alone in the beginning, if I had known how much I’d hurt.


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