On loving a bad boy

When I first saw those brown eyes, that flashy smile, that deceitfully sweet voice, I knew.

Of course I knew.

Your type sets off the “run for the goddamn hills” alarm in my head. When bad boy actors method act in the movies, they are pretending that they are you.

But you make me laugh. And I know damn well ever considering a place for you in my heart was foolish. I know I deserve this. “This”, whatever “this” is, hasn’t even happened yet. But I know it will, and I know that I know better.

When I told my friend you bought me expensive white wine when you found out my friend died, despite you barely knowing me, she smiled, and reminded me to “tread carefully’.

Darling, I am barely staying afloat in those big beautiful eyes. I can feel the undercurrents already pulling at me. You can’t help it, it’s who you are.

Let me be clear. There is nothing wrong with the way you are. You, Mr. weekly bar fight, Mr. used to sell drugs and still might but who knows, Mr. drives a beater like the world is a forgiving playground. There’s nothing wrong with you. I love the way you laugh, the way your eyes sparkle, the sweet side I see. When it’s juxtaposed with that tough exterior, I am putty. But you, you are not meant for me. I need someone who’s path is more like the lines in the palm of my hands; unchanging, soft, and loyal. I know this. I just can’t bring myself to walk away yet.