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Though I never said it, I revel in the way she gazes at me. Her stare lingers, long enough to crawl down my neck, like a restless hound waiting to settle her fangs into my skin, while the blood rushes straight to my chest—and that thought alone sends my pulse racing. My demeanor falters as soon as conflict stir within me. This was not the way it was supposed to turn out, and yet, the slightest shift of her voice in which she says my name unravels me completely and alters the way I fantasize about her.
Every glint of her eyes pierces through my soul—striking every fiber of my being. The reticence between us feels like temptation itself, urging me to give in, and suddenly, I’m consumed by every thought I’ve sworn to bury.
We never argued about what should be rightfully said and done. We never had to. Still, I’ve drawn a hundred conclusions on why what we're doing was immoral, and every time, I tear them down just as fast. I've made the choice to dither if I should ponder over what I feel for her. I know I should, but my mind refuses to listen. The path that we're currently walking on is coarse, and many crossroads lie ahead of us, scattered with choices neither of us has enough courage to make.
There’s a kind of ache that settles in when she’s near, something between shame and pining, and I don’t know which one I crave more.