I started to fancy him with his shoes.

Instead of blunt sneakers, he wore brown boots. Those boots were the first start, when at one glance, I started noticing his blond hair, the light curls, the blue eyes, the sad smile.

I want something that cannot happen.

If this cannot happen, then I can start to fantasize.

I imagine he comes first. I imagine he asks first.

I imagine his tall hands, his rude fingers, that may not be soft, that may not be as gentle as I imagine.

My breath is short, I let him kiss me, I let him do anything he wants, because I imagine, he fancies me too.

And then I freeze, because I love someone else.

In his curls, I see His.

In his blue eyes, I found His.

In his sad smile, I recognize His lips and His sorrow.

I share a life with Him, while I know, I share nothing with the other one.

I hate what he loves

I love what he despises

I only imagine that, for one night, he fancies me.

And he'll say, It’s a mistake

And I will not say otherwise

It will be a mistake, and not a beautiful one.

Sometimes I think, it is not about love or hate or sex : it is about power.

But, I still imagine that somehow, somewhere, in the middle of the afternoon, he thinks,

Yes I could fancy her

Yes I did look,

I did put my hand on her shoulder, and I shiver

Sometimes

You love someone

And you fancy someone else.