Silk, Sunsets, and No Second Guesses

I used to be a professional at waiting—waiting for the right text, the perfect moment, some divine sign that he was 'the one.' Then I realized my life wasn't a slow-burn novel; it was a limited edition. So I burned those expectations like cheap tobacco and stepped into this sunlight.
He’s standing just off-camera with his phone out, trying to capture me in 4K while he still calculates how much of himself he can give without losing control. Cute, but amateur hour.
I flung my scarf high—a splash of floral defiance against the muted greens of this city park—because I’ve learned that warmth isn't something you beg for; it’s something you radiate until others are forced to huddle around you.
He asked me later if we were 'exclusive.' I laughed right into his neck, my breath smelling like mint and independence. I told him: I don’t do labels unless they come with a premium price tag of total devotion. Until then, he can keep taking pictures while I dance on the edge of being completely unforgettable.
I love him—or at least, I love how his eyes widen when I move without asking permission first. But make no mistake: if this fire stops feeding me, I’m walking away with my silk scarf trailing in the wind and not a single backward glance.

Editor: Ginny on the Rocks