Admitting embarrassing parts of myself always leaves a chalky taste in my mouth.  Letting the words out is a struggle;  each syllable clings to the roof of my mouth like paste. I never know quite how to articulate my thoughts when I have to admit to those shameful bits of me. I never know where to start or where to end. It's why I often stay quiet.

So when I meet someone I can share myself with, the words flow freely like water through a spile.  Each syllable tastes like honey; every thought is freed. I often confuse this sort of kinship, imagining that the person I'm sharing myself with feels the same. Imagine my surprise when I realize it was all in my head. Imagine the shame, the shock, the sheer frustration when I see the truth.

And that's when the chalky aftertaste invades my mouth like rotten eggs.

When I first tasted that chalky aftertaste was when I learned to keep those embarrassing parts to myself. No one is worth that awful flavour.

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