Waiting for a text that's never going to come; waiting to be treated well; rushing to your phone; hoping it's him and then letting out a GROAN when it's just the family WhatsApp group.
To myself, I do not give you permission to message him.
No matter how twinkly Thursday night's sky is or how uplifting Friday's morning is, you're not to reach out. You're not to slide into his DMs with a flirty quip about how your peach is the same size and does he still live in Notting Hill or has he gone home home.
Your eyes flickered Shooting bullets into mine Every time I looked over Fast paced, dashing daggers. A murmur muffled by booze-soaked blossom Falling into cups And words laced with promise Spilling into ears You asked me about her I said she wasn't shy And that if you felt so inclined You ought to ask her… Continue reading