Playing with fire

He stops to buy hamburgers in the stall on wheel. He wears Converse, some oversized plaid shirt, a sun visor and sunglasses although it's dark outside since long.

My hair smells of his cigarette smoke.

He means trouble. Known by the police, throwing the biggest parties, arrenging competitions with friends - the winner is the one who fucked the most - charged for various crimes.

But he is charming, and he knows it. He's so good at using it. He even makes me forget about all his problems that so easily could be passed on to me if I'm not careful enough.

His embrace was soft. I wish it would have lasted longer.

He's toxic. I need to stay away.
But resisting to follow impulses and feelings has never been harder than this. It's so hard when your brain says one thing and your heart another.
Posted on June 11th, 2009 at 07:54pm

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