Maybe fiction

"You're like a femme fatale," he was saying.

I swiveled my head around, looking behind the booth for whoever he was talking to.

"No," he said, pointing his chin at me. "You. You're dangerous."

I blinked, confused.

"Okay, nevermind. Tell me 10 things you've always wanted to do."

He picked up a pen to write it down and stared squarely at me, studying my face hard.

I blinked. My wishes are not so concrete.

"I would like to be stronger," I said.

"Stronger," he repeated, confused. He couldn't deliver strength. "No, something concrete."

I struggled to meet his demands.

"I'd like to do something someday to help people," I struggled, vaguely.

"No, no, no," he signed. "Okay, think about it and let me know."

In my head, I said, "I don't think someone can give me what I want anymore."

"You need to break up with him," he said wistfully, eyes filling with hunger.

"I love him," I replied plaintively.

"I know you like to write about stuff," he said. "Please don't write about this. But I think we could be really happy together."

(Sent from my phone)