I've been thinking about something lately.
Not because I have the answer, but because the question keeps following me around.
When did we stop flirting with the people we chose?
Seriously.
Think about the beginning.
Before there were shared calendars, grocery lists, and debates over whose turn it was to take out the trash.
Back when simply seeing their name light up your phone could change your entire mood.
Back when a quick glance across the room felt like a secret.
Back when a brush of the hand sent your heart into overdrive.
Back when staying up until two in the morning talking somehow seemed easier than saying goodnight.
We flirted without even realizing we were flirting.
We teased.
We laughed.
We complimented each other.
We stole kisses in parking lots.
We found excuses to touch.
We made eye contact just a little longer than necessary.
We made each other feel interesting.
Desired.
Chosen.
Then somewhere between building a life together and simply getting through life together...
...many of us quietly stopped.
Not because we stopped loving each other.
Because we got comfortable.
And comfort, while beautiful in so many ways, has a sneaky little habit of disguising itself as permission to stop trying.
Here's the thing that fascinates me.
We'll flirt with a stranger while ordering coffee.
We'll smile at the bartender.
We'll joke with the cashier.
We'll spend fifteen minutes deciding how to respond to a text from someone we've only gone out with twice.
We'll even ask our friends,
"Does this sound too eager?"
But the person waiting for us at home?
They get the exhausted version.
The distracted version.
The "I'll tell you later" version.
The version that's mentally answering emails while pretending to watch television.
The version that's physically present but emotionally checked out.
And before anyone starts pointing fingers, let's be honest...
Most of us have done it.
Not intentionally.
Not maliciously.
Just... gradually.
Almost without noticing.
That's the dangerous part.
Relationships rarely change all at once.
They change in inches.
Somewhere along the way, we started believing that commitment meant the chase was over.
Mission accomplished.
Relationship secured.
No further effort required.
Except that's not how attraction works.
Attraction isn't a finish line.
It's a conversation.
And conversations don't survive if only one person keeps talking.
Carrie Bradshaw probably would've asked whether butterflies are supposed to disappear after enough years together.
Samantha would've rolled her eyes and said, "Only if you let them."
Honestly?
I think they both would've had a point.
Because butterflies aren't really about newness.
They're about attention.
They're about feeling seen.
There's something incredibly attractive about knowing someone still notices you after they've learned all your habits.
After they've seen you sick.
After they've watched you ugly cry over a movie.
After they've heard the same stories more than once.
After they've witnessed every wonderfully imperfect part of being human...
...they still look at you like you're someone worth flirting with.
Now that's sexy.
Not because it's dramatic.
Because it's intentional.
We've somehow convinced ourselves that flirting belongs to the beginning of a relationship.
As if it's something you graduate from.
But what if we've had it backward all along?
What if flirting isn't how relationships start...
What if it's how they stay alive?
Not the performative kind.
Not cheesy pickup lines.
Not pretending to be someone you're not.
I'm talking about the little moments that quietly say,
"I still see you."
The kiss on the forehead while you're making coffee.
The hand resting on the small of someone's back as you walk through a crowded room.
The random text that simply says,
"Good luck today. I know you've got this."
Walking past them in the kitchen and stealing a kiss just because you can.
Looking up from your phone when they're telling you about their day.
Complimenting them when there's no special occasion.
Sitting a little closer than necessary.
Laughing together over absolutely nothing.
None of those things cost money.
None of them require reservations.
None of them take hours.
Yet somehow, they're often the first things to disappear.
And when they do...
It's not just flirting that goes missing.
It's connection.
Because flirting isn't really about seduction.
It's about reminding someone,
"Out of everyone in the room, I'd still choose you."
I have a theory.
Actually... maybe "theory" isn't the right word.
Let's call it an observation.
I think attraction is built—or quietly dismantled—in what I like to call micro-flirting.
Not grand gestures.
Not expensive gifts.
Not candlelit weekends away.
Those things are wonderful, don't get me wrong.
But they're highlights.
Relationships aren't built in the highlights.
They're built on ordinary Tuesdays.
Micro-flirting is everything we do that whispers,
"I'm still paying attention."
It's catching their eye from across the room and smiling for no reason.
It's brushing against them as you walk by instead of walking around them.
It's remembering they have a big meeting and texting afterward to ask how it went.
It's saying,
"You look really good today,"
even though you've seen them in the same sweatshirt a hundred times.
It's reaching for their hand in the grocery store.
It's sitting close enough that your knees accidentally touch.
It's laughing at the inside jokes that no one else would understand.
It's sending a meme because you know it'll make them laugh.
It's kissing them goodbye...
...and kissing them hello.
Because somewhere along the way, so many of us stopped doing those little things.
Not because we stopped caring.
Because we assumed they already knew.
But here's the problem with assumptions.
People can't feel what isn't expressed.
You can love someone deeply...
...and still leave them wondering if they're loved at all.
Maybe that's why so many conversations about intimacy miss the point.
We talk about frequency.
Technique.
Date nights.
Vacation getaways.
New ideas.
And while there's absolutely nothing wrong with those conversations...
They're often trying to solve the symptom instead of the cause.
You can't ignore someone emotionally for six days...
...and expect chemistry to magically appear because it's Saturday night.
Desire doesn't usually switch on like a light.
It grows.
It builds.
It accumulates.
Every smile.
Every compliment.
Every lingering hug.
Every "I'm proud of you."
Every playful glance across the room.
Every tiny reminder that says,
"I haven't stopped choosing you."
That's foreplay too.
Maybe it's the most important kind.
Let's be honest for a second.
We've all seen it.
Someone spends an entire week glued to their phone.
Barely makes conversation.
Walks past their partner without touching them.
Forgets the compliment they meant to give.
Answers everything with,
"I'm tired."
Then, at ten-thirty on Friday night...
Suddenly they're feeling romantic.
I'm just going to say what a lot of people are probably thinking.
That's a hard sell.
Because attraction doesn't live in a vacuum.
It lives in everything that came before.
It's difficult to feel desired by someone who hasn't made you feel noticed.
And there is a difference.
Being wanted for a moment...
...isn't the same as feeling wanted every day.
Carrie probably would've turned this into a question.
"Can we really expect passion to survive if curiosity disappears?"
Samantha?
She would've laughed.
She would've leaned back in her chair, taken a sip of her martini, and said,
"Honey... sexy isn't complicated. People just stop making each other feel sexy."
And honestly...
I think she would've been onto something.
Because sexy has never just been about lingerie.
Or muscles.
Or perfect lighting.
Sexy is attention.
Sexy is effort.
Sexy is anticipation.
Sexy is looking at the person you've known for years...
...like there's still something left to discover.
Maybe that's why confidence is so attractive.
Not because confident people are perfect.
Because confidence makes people feel present.
Present enough to laugh.
To flirt.
To tease.
To make the first move.
To compliment someone without feeling awkward.
To reach for a hand.
To steal a kiss.
Confidence doesn't always begin with loving yourself.
Sometimes it begins with remembering that you're allowed to be playful again.
Here's something else I've noticed.
The happiest couples I know don't necessarily flirt because everything is perfect.
They flirt because they refuse to let life become the only thing they talk about.
Bills.
Work.
Kids.
Laundry.
Appointments.
Dinner.
Repeat.
Those conversations matter.
Of course they do.
But they can't be the only conversations.
Because eventually, if all you ever discuss is managing a household...
You'll start feeling more like roommates than lovers.
Romance isn't another chore to squeeze onto the calendar.
It's woven into the ordinary moments.
It's dancing in the kitchen for thirty seconds while dinner burns.
It's making fun of each other's music choices.
It's sending a text that simply says,
"Can't wait to see you tonight."
It's choosing connection before convenience.
Again.
And again.
And again.
So maybe the better question isn't,
"How do we get the spark back?"
Maybe it's,
"When did we stop giving it oxygen?"
Because sparks don't usually disappear overnight.
More often than not...
We slowly stop feeding them.
Not intentionally.
Not because we've fallen out of love.
Because life gets loud.
Responsibilities pile up.
Stress wins.
And before we know it, the person we once couldn't wait to impress has quietly become the person we assume will always understand.
Sometimes they do.
Sometimes they quietly stop feeling seen.
One Last Thing...
If you're lucky enough to have someone who still reaches for your hand...
Reach back.
If they still flirt with you after all these years...
Flirt back.
If they've stopped...
Maybe don't wait for them to make the first move.
Send the text.
Steal the kiss.
Give the compliment.
Laugh a little louder.
Look up from the screen.
Because flirting was never about convincing someone to fall in love with you.
It's about reminding the person who already did...
...that they're still worth pursuing.
Maybe that's the real secret.
The happiest couples never stop dating each other.
xo, Jules