Who Am I?

Who Am I?

Hi. My name is – was – Circle (I think).

I am not an alcoholic (though I would prefer alcoholism to this).

True to my name, I was round and curvy. Complete. Whole. And all those nice words. You could call me beautiful and I would answer to it in a heartbeat. Now that I think about it, I really was beautiful.

Then I met him. Then I liked him. He seemed like the kind of guy a girl like me should end up with. He looked like a man whose arms I would mold into quite comfortably. The kind who, when he held my hand as we walked down the street, when his face touched mine cheek to cheek as we took that selfie, when he sat and spread his masculinity all over the room, that we would look like a match made in heaven.

We exchanged numbers, went for those dates, got to talking, got to know more about each other – the whole courtship thing.

But just as I was about to pass him off as perfect, he complimented me with these words: ‘I like your ass’ He liked my ass. I thought this to be odd; that a man would complement one of my body parts. Only my ass? What about my face? My hands? What about my brilliant mind? These were, of course, just thoughts in my mind. I did not voice them to him at this point. I also decided to hold off that thought about his perfection.

A few more dates and he was grabbing that ‘likeable ass’. Looking me in the eye, voice deep and suggestive, he said “Baibe, I am ready to take this relationship to the next level”- he was ready. He never bothered to find out if I was. He was ready. What was more important than that?

If I allowed myself to find out how I felt about everything, when I allowed my conscience to speak to me, I heard it say that I was not ready for that level he was going on about. I also heard it whisper that the douchebag cared more about my impressive ass, than he did about me.

This was the point when I discovered his name: Square. He was Square. I am (was, damnit!) Circle – I already told you that, didn’t I? Clearly, we were different. We wanted different things. He wanted my ass, and if I was to be honest, I wanted his heart. We just did not fit.

But I did not want him to leave. I wanted him to stay. For some reason. And that is when I got the idea to chop myself into his shape, you know? Circle wouldn’t fit into Square but she could chop off some of her curves right? That is all I had to do – get rid of those curves, and no one would be none the wiser.

That is what I did.

It wasn’t painless.

It stung.

I became Squar-ey. I have to admit at this point that I did not feel as beautiful as I did before. But at least we kinda fit into each other, Square and I. So much so that on that night, just after sitting across the table from me, having taken me out to the club for drinks – Circle always preferred going to quiet places but I wasn’t her anymore remember? I am Squar-ey now – when he looked at me so intensely such that I could feel his eyes burning mine as my heart refused to beat, when he fished out his baritone from deep down where I think he stored it specifically for moments like this (his wild card perhaps?) and used it to tell me how increasingly hard it was getting for him to keep his hands off me, as he looked incredibly sexy in my drunk eyes – yes, we had been drinking a lot – when he had his hands all over me – caressing, his tongue all over my mouth – kissing and proceeded to take me to one of the guest rooms upstairs, as he saw me hesitate and proceeded to tell me that if I really loved him, I would have to prove it by not denying him this, that if not, he would know that I was stringing him along and there’d be no point in him sticking around to have his heart broken, as this ultimatum fell on my fragile shoulders and weighed on them like a heavy rock, I found myself helping him to unhook my bra.

I was not Circle anymore. I was Squar-ey.

I tried my best to fit into Square’s shape, routine and life. A part of me did not like doing the things he wanted me to do. As much as I had trimmed myself into shape, it still was a struggle trying to align my character to his. I tried to understand him though. I kept chopping away at any remaining curves. I laughed at his very queer jokes. Smiled when he grabbed me indecently. I slept with him even when I did not feel like it.

You would think that would keep a man.

You would be wrong.

He left.

I think he said that I was not the same person he met or something. Could I have heard wrong? Maybe I was too busy listening to the shattering noise made by my breaking heart to understand what he was saying. I hate to believe that after all I had done to try and accommodate his Squariness, he would say something like that, don’t you?

I looked at myself in the mirror this morning. I have changed so much I could barely recognize myself. I am not sure who I am anymore. I used a man to define who I was. Now that he is gone, I don’t know who I am. Am I Circle still? Not really? Am I Squar-ey now? Yeah? How can I be when Square is not in my life anymore?

And I met another Circle yesterday. And I kinda like him. I think two circles give the perfect fit. But, but, my curves are all gone. I am not circle anymore. Maybe I shouldn’t have chopped off parts of me.

Maybe I should have stayed just the way I was – round, curvy and whole. Perfect.

Maybe, maybe…maybe I don’t know who I am anymore?

Who am I?

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