I’m trying very hard not to think about you like that. And you’re making it incredibly fucking difficult. Because there’s the version of me that can sit here, perfectly composed, having a normal conversation with you... and then there’s the version of me whose mind goes somewhere completely inappropriate the second I hear your voice. The thoughts that make me shift in my seat. The ones I probably shouldn’t say out loud. I can flirt. I can pretend I’m unaffected. I can keep everything tucked neatly behind this very composed little voice. But maybe I’m tired of making desire sound pretty. Maybe sometimes I just want. And maybe I should stop pretending I’m not thinking about you like that. Because apparently... I’m fucking terrible at it. — Thalia Lux