He re-uploaded her photo where she has long lashes, lovely angles, and that same thing that everyone does these days. The responses was obvious: "She's so beautiful," she's a wife material," with many heart emojis showering the phone screen like confetti. I looked at the screen and had a thought. Yes, she is lovely, but not as lovely as I am.
Because my cuteness isn't staged. It requires no filters or forced postures. It's the way I wrinkle my nose when I'm thinking hard. The way I dance while cooking is unconventional and reckless. It's the softness in my eyes when I care, and the fire in my eyes when I mean business.
She may look nice in still photos, but I excel when moving. I'm the laugh at the inappropriate time, the voice that sings off-key, and the energy that illuminates a place without effort.
He may believe she is everything right now. Let him. Eventually, he will recognize the reality he has been avoiding:
She's cute... but not as cute as I am.