Does he know how he makes me feel?

How he’s unfolded me?

Years ago, in school, secretive notes written on paper ripped from a spiral bound book. Turned and tucked into the smallest square imaginable.

I was that tight, that closed. When we found one another and began talking, I let him pull on that first closure. Starting to undo what had been hidden from so many for some time. Letting him into the details, the smudged ink, doodles and wrinkles. He’s undone that paper, flattened it and read it until he’s memorized every part.