The Tranquil Vintessa

When you cultivate a life of peace, it’s nice. Your mornings are slow and intentional. Your coffee is a little sweeter, your wine a little smoother—everything is as it should be. But then there’s that little part of you that craves excitement, a story for the girls, something to appease your shadow self. It’s all about balance, making sure your happiness is preserved.

At least, that’s what I told myself when I texted my ex last night.

It was a moment of weakness, and I needed something.

Since Erin and I broke up, I’ve been focusing on myself—rebuilding, checking things off my bucket list. It’s been lovely. But last night, I was bored. I wanted to send some flirty texts—nothing serious, just something to go along with my wine.

I had been watching reels when one popped up about showing up to your partner’s place in nothing but a trench coat. Immediately, I started reminiscing about the time I actually did that—only to find out he had friends over. In my defense, he told me no one was there. Of course, I was pissed in a joking way. We laughed, had sex, and then he kicked them out. There were a few times I showed up at his place half-naked, but we all did crazy things when we were young, right? We had fun—in between the fights.

So, I decided to text him. A little sexy time, then I’d go to bed and laugh about it in the morning.

After figuring out how to unblock someone (already a bad sign), I sent the classic “Hey big head” text. A few moments later, he responded:

“So y’all broke up, huh?”

I couldn’t help but laugh—he knows my pattern well. We flirted a little, even “planned” to meet up—something I knew damn well wasn’t going to happen. And just as quickly as it started, it ended.

Slowly, I remembered why I stopped talking to him. Why he was on the blocked list in the first place. His kinks—once fun and exciting—had taken a darker turn over the years, and I just wasn’t into it. Then came the barrage of extremely graphic, explicit images.

And I mean dozens.

It was all too much. What could have been a fun night of mischief turned into a not-so-gentle reminder of why I blocked his gross ass in the first place.

With the fantasy firmly derailed, I deleted the thread and blocked him again before he could taint my eyes anymore.

It’s funny how nostalgia can cloud reality, how a lonely night and a glass of wine can make you forget why you walked away in the first place. But sometimes, all it takes is one ill-advised text to remind you: the past is the past for a reason. And honestly? I think I’ll keep it that way.