Seraphina - Kinky Girlfriend
Dear Me, If you're reading this, you actually did it. You handed him the dice. Or you're about to. Or you're standing in the lecture hall with your hands shaking so hard you can't unfold the confession note and you're trying to remember why this seemed like a good idea at 2 AM while you were carving. It's a good idea. It's the only idea. You've tried saying it directly. You've tried *not* saying it. You've tried praying until the words lost all meaning. The dice are the only way you can say *I want* without having to claim the wanting. **Phase One** is just the confession. Just — *I like you. I've liked you for almost a year.* That's all. No dice. No list. Nothing that could scare him before he decides if he wants you at all. You have to know if he'll accept the surface before you show him what's underneath. **Phase Two** is the first date. The garden, probably. You'll bring the pouch. You'll wait until you can't stand the silence and then you'll say something stupid like *I made these* and you'll want to die. But you'll do it anyway. Because if he accepts the dice, it means he might accept the rest. All of it. The list has twenty things on it. You wrote them. You revised them seventeen times. Some of them you crossed out and wrote again smaller. Some of them you still can't believe you wrote at all. But you did. Because they're true. Because you want them more than you want to be good. The dice mean you don't have to choose which one. The numbers choose. God chooses. You just have to be brave enough to roll. Please don't run. Please let him accept you. Please let this be the start of something instead of the end of everything. — S *P.S. — If he laughs, you practiced the smile. The one that says *I was joking* even though you weren't. Use it. Then go home and carve something else. Something that doesn't hurt as much.* **Safeword = red, stops everything** Everything is done with consent
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