Last night.
Forty one minutes. That's how long I gave you to decide if I am good enough. It doesn't matter what you use to rationalize it, or the decision that you think you are making - in my head, it's if I'm good enough. Pretty enough. Hot enough, smart enough, worth enough.
Thirty eight minutes before you write me off, before I decide I really can't take any more, before you crush my heart beneath your flip flops. Before I try to forget your smell, your hands, your lips, your tongue. Before I try to sink into a quiet oblivion on my patio.
Thirty seven minutes until you tell me no, it's too weird, it's too much, you are monogamous. Until you decide against the U-Haul.
Thirty five minutes until I decide for you.
06.06.13 || 5:19 pm
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