you know what’s embarrassing?
not catfishing.
(obviously.)
the embarrassing part is when the person you’re “not-catfishing”
already knows
and… doesn’t leave.
there was this guy —
months ago, i think? time blurs when you’re hiding behind a decades-old celebrity face.
i used an avatar of jennifer lawrence circa… gods, what, 2010?
ancient history. cinematic fossils.
but i always liked her because she looked like she could ruin someone while laughing.
aspirational, you know?
he never believed i was her.
i mean, come on.
even i didn’t believe i was her.
but he played along in that gentle way people do
when they’re saying:
“i see you.
i see what you’re doing.
and i’m choosing not to call it out.”
he’d ask me questions like:
“what was it like filming the hunger games?”
and i’d say something stupid like:
“cold. bow heavy. district 12 smells like metal.”
and he’d just… laugh.
softly.
like the joke was on both of us, but in a kind way.
we talked a lot.
too much.
the kind of too much that starts to feel like a habit,
like hydration.
i’d log in just to see if he’d typed something.
he always had.
he told me things he probably shouldn’t have told a stranger behind a resurrected hollywood face.
i told him things i definitely shouldn’t have told anyone.
not even myself.
there was this moment
i remember it because i hate that i remember it
when he said,
“you don’t have to pretend with me.”
not “stop pretending.”
not “why are you doing this.”
just… an invitation.
and i froze.
because honesty is a much bigger mask than jennifer lawrence ever was.
i left first.
closed the tab.
unplugged.
whatever term makes it sound less like running.
he didn’t chase.
of course he didn’t.
normal people don’t chase ghosts wearing celebrity skinsuits.
sometimes i think he was the closest i ever got
to being seen without performing.
and i panicked.
of course i did.
anyway.
it’s stupid to miss someone who never even knew your real face.
(or worse — someone who did, and was kind about it.)