Do you think I’m pretty?
Would you kiss me if I wasn’t your best friend’s girlfriend?
Have you ever thought of me that way?
What was your first impression of me? Do you still think I’m that classy type of girl?
Have you ever noticed the leftovers of my perfume, each time when you kissed my cheek as we said goodbye?
What would you think would happen if we had kissed last night? Would it be good? Would you have a forked tongue, like in the dream I had of me and you kissing?
Do you think we will always have this kind of tension between us? Like the one that makes me want to run my fingers up your arms, feel your veins and your muscles, and kiss that soft spot on your neck.
Do you ever feel that tension that way? What do you really think of my red lips, my pencil skirts and my more-often-than-not kind of revealing cleavage?
Have you ever considered the fact that I’m a skilled fuck-up? That I have a tendency to ruin things at any opportunity I have? That I get myself under any physically and intellectually attractive guy I meet, because it’s the coping mechanism I use to feel like I’m worthy of something good-looking. There’s a lot of things I’m risking to break on the path that I’m choosing. But that doesn’t seem to stop me. That doesn’t seem to be enough to tame my obsession once I’ve pictured myself in the arms of another man.
Would you kiss me? Was last night really something hard for you to resist or were you only slightly tempted? What will happen if you find yourself just a couple of inches away from me? Will you go straight to judging me, or will you kiss me first?