I have taken to watching him from a distance. His air of arrogance, his confidence all wrapped up within the cotton threads of his expensive suits. He is gorgeous, and he is something I will always see from a distance, men like him don’t go after girls like me. He embodies the “man” I have always longed for and yet the man that my hands had always missed. He is smart and suave and has these eyes that pierce my skin when he looks at me. My friends tell me I should ask him out for a drink after work, but I won’t. He’s not the sort of man you ask for a drink after work. There is something old school and gentlemanly about him which makes me think he does the asking, and yet his standards mean he will never ask a girl he works with out for a drink.

 

If today was the one day I have no regrets. If today was the day where I could say anything without consequence or rebuttal what would I say to him? I would tell him that his eyes say more than he’ll ever know. That it’s terribly romanticised and cliqued, but he disarms me in an instant and his eyes remove all my amour and sends those walls crashing when he looks into my eyes. That he knows, I’m not as tough or as confident as I seem. I would tell him that he is the sort of man my hands would like to hold. That is all. Nothing more; nothing less.