Flirting with Risk

Some people flirt with strangers.
I flirt with risk.

Not the thrill-seeking kind. Not skydiving or tattoos on a dare or texting someone who ghosted you six months ago. Not that kind of risk.

I flirt with emotional risk.
The kind you carry in your throat.
The kind you feel in your stomach before you speak.
The kind that makes you wonder if maybe this is the moment someone sees you—or doesn’t.

It’s not about seduction.
It’s about invitation.

It’s me saying, I’ll show you a little bit of myself. Want to meet me there?

Sometimes it’s loud. Sometimes it’s barely audible.
But it’s always real.

There are a thousand ways to flirt with risk:

Saying “I miss you” when you could’ve said “sup.”
Giving someone a compliment that goes just one layer too deep.
Letting your voice crack when you could’ve swallowed it.
Texting first. Sharing last. Staying when it gets awkward.

None of these are flashy.
They won’t land you on a rollercoaster or get you a shot of adrenaline.

But they might get you something else:
A moment.
A flicker of truth.
A brief, brilliant sense that someone saw the real you—and didn’t flinch.

Me? I flirt with risk all the time.

I tell friends when they look good. I tell coworkers when they matter.
I give the quiet kid in the corner a nod that says, You’re not invisible to me.
I tell the person who’s leaving, That’s why I’m spending every minute I can with you.

And yeah. I joke about boots and socks and massages and say it all like it’s nothing, like I’m just funny that way.
But underneath it?

I’m inviting the world to see me.
Not perform me. Not tolerate me.
See me.

Because here’s the truth:

Flirting isn’t always about sex.

Sometimes, it’s about hope.

The hope that if you open your mouth and say the real thing, you won’t disappear.

The hope that you can still show up in a world that keeps telling you not to need too much.

The hope that you can risk softness and not come undone.

I don’t take every risk.
But I take the ones that feel like me.

The “Hey, you good?”
The “You don’t have to go through that alone.”
The “I care about you.”
The “Thank you for this.”
The “I’m glad I knew you, even if it’s not forever.”

I flirt with risk the way some people flirt with strangers.
Not because I want something back,
But because something in me still believes in maybe.

And every now and then?
The world flirts back.

And that’s enough to keep going.

— cinnamon