On Pretty Girls; For Pretty Girls
I caught the prettiest girl in my class staring at me. It was not the first time, but I always acted as if I saw nothing, ignoring her every time. Nostalgia crept into my veins, but I am aware that she looks at everyone else just the same.
Her eyes were pleading or longing for something I could not fathom. They were enough to make a man's heart run a marathon or two. Her eyelashes flickered, asking to be seen, wanting to be approached.
Her red lips were set in a little pout, her chin resting on her palm. Oh, I want to make them bleed. I want to taste regret as I take her inhibitions to outer space.
If only we weren't in the middle of the class, pretending to listen to the instructor babbling about everything but nothing about the lesson, I would've regretted every decision I knew I was ready to make.
However, I know better. I refuse to be subject to my desires. I refuse to answer her. She can call my name and sing me to sleep, but I will never waiver. I know she's up to no good. A pretty girl like her is just too good to be true. I am fine alone in my own little world.
