My boyfriend asked me to strip for him, so I did.
First I took off my pride. I wore it like a shawl to protect all my insecurities. He loved it.
I took off my shame. It hung around my legs, a thousand uncomfortable memories wound tight
like twine to hide my ability to be free and open. He loved it.
I took off my fear. They gripped my feet like stone slippers, hoping to keep me from ever leaping
as far as I was capable, often succeeding. He loved it.
Finally I took off my doubt. The doubt that was there so long it had become me. I ripped it off
revealing the flesh of my love for him and the bone-depth of my feelings for him and the blood
that rushed for only him, forever.
He didn’t love that.
He left wearing my clothes.
I dressed for winter.