He licks his lips. I laugh. He smiles. I wonder what his lips feel like. What his kiss is like. Good? Bad? Dry? Wet? Clumsy? Refined? I snap back.

You're not supposed to imagine yourself entrancing the guy who makes your friend swoon. You are not supposed to get a crush on the guy you're supposed to be helping your friend get.

I keep screaming no, forbidening myself from the increasingly innapropriate thoughts. It does no good.

But what to do? Options are lacking. There's little hope of extinguishing the fire in my mind. What if it runs past the point of logic? Girls and boys can't be trusted when their hormones are breaking blood vessels. I don't know if I can trust myself not to fuck my life up.



hold me close like we both died
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