Flattery

You say words that make the other person sound good. You smile a little too broadly, nod a little too quickly, find something a little too beautiful that actually leaves you cold. And while the words come out of your mouth, a part of you already knows they're not true. Not quite. Not really. They are tailor-made — cut to fit what the other person wants to hear, shaped by what you need from them.

After such moments a strange aftertaste remains. Something between relief ("they're not angry with me") and a quiet unease you often can't name. Perhaps a pull in the chest. A pressure in the stomach. A feeling as though you lost yourself in a small transaction. You got something — goodwill, access, safety. And you paid for it without noticing: a piece of your authenticity.