Standing at the window,
shifting from one foot
to the other.
Questioning if I wants to be the hero
or the antihero of this story.

I listen as he romanticizes cheating,
contorting it into “forbidden love”.

Let me real-life your fantasy.

For it would be a fallacy to judge
when I too, romanticize everything.

I know it's wrong,
but the very thought
of you pushing all these papers
to the floor

and giving the neighbors
something to talk about...

of you
bending me over this bed
and acting on everything we've left unsaid
makes me...

We’ve been communicating
between the lines,
For far, far too long.

It’s only wrong
if you let it be.

If only you knew
how many times I laid in bed
with you in my head
and my hands
between my legs

There is no amount of daydreaming or touching myself that can satisfy the things I want.
When I wake, the bittersweet frustration seem to bounce off every nerve in my body.
Please tell me my lover exists somewhere more tangible than my dreams.

I’m just a young woman with an active imagination,
and an even more active libido.

Wooden stairs and maraschino cherries.
The vision varies,
but when it comes down to it it’s really your decision.

I want to be your prey,
we can treat it like religion.

You said “it’s easier to ask for forgiveness than permission”