He said heart, and I said head. He laughed, so softly, right next to my ear (kissing it for the briefest of seconds, warm weight, and gone...). You're cute when you're stubborn he said, but I couldn't get angrier, not with that smile. That smile, the cheekiness of a bulletproof child, the seduction of a sunlit bed of clover...

Listen:
I did not give you permission to take up permanent residence in my head. But you did anyway, didn't you? Eyes tracking me around the room (don't think I couldn't feel the heat on my back), smiling when I glanced across. A little more of me captivated each time. Oh, it's insidious enough, I can appreciate that - but did you stop to consider that I can't breathe when you're not here? At least, that's how it seems, and it's driving me mad.

Or the way that you can read me with perfect clarity, having known me for mere minutes, somehow just knowing that I need to be held close...
closer
...and my nose is pressing against your shoulder (breathing in, Hugo Boss unless I miss my guess), and I'm distracted by the press of your lips against my hair...

Listen:
I did not give you permission to take up permanent residence in my head. Rent is high there, and the space is jealously guarded.

Pardon? You don't care about that? You're cute when you're stubborn, you know. And maybe, just maybe, I'm sick of running. Cause a scene, you say? Shall we?

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