I have over 35,000 images stored on my iCloud. They’re of pictures I’ve taken, gifs I absolutely love, and memes that resonated with me in some way.

Within that group is one image of a dialogue that I found somewhere years ago. It’s a conversation that I sort of love. Not because of the words per se, but because it makes me feel.

The dialogue had some errors that I wanted to tweak to incorporate more of the feeling that comes through.

So, don’t come at me, please. There’s a certain group of men I’m talking to when I say that. But here it is…



“You don't love him,” he challenges, a small smirk appearing on his thin lips.

"Excuse me?"

"You can't."

"…He makes me happy," I retort, crossing my arms and staring defiantly up at him.

"Sure,” he shrugs. "I didn't say he didn't. But you don't love him. He doesn't get under your skin the way I did."

"And that’s a good thing."

“Keep lying to yourself. You say he makes you happy, but it's not the happiness that I made you feel. It's not the tingle in your fingers and the butterflies in your stomach. You like him because he's safe. He won't hurt you. He's smart and funny and kind, but he's oh…so…safe."

"Safe is a good thing,” I say firmly.

"Not for you. I can see it in your eyes. You want recklessness. You want fiery passion. You want danger. In fact, I think you need it. You thrive on it."

He steps closer, breath warm on my face. One hand slips gingerly around the small of my back and the other rests on my cheek.

My breath catches in my throat.

He leans down, lips just brushing my ear. My skin prickles with goosebumps, and a smile sneaks its way onto my face.

"See? I told you."

—mymessyink