If at first you aren’t sure how to look pretty for me, then stop and think about what I am asking from you. And if again you cannot think in straight lines of how to get from there to here, ask yourself a few questions, and meet me in the middle. Because all I really want from you, is everything you’ve got.
I want to watch you on tiptoes in the cereal isle at the grocery store, and see you lick your fingers over sushi. I want to watch you bend over in the bedroom to pick up socks and then ask me if it looks nice. I want you struggle to roll the window down and bite your lower lip while doing it. I want you to order another drink.
I’d like it if you wore your insecurities on the outside, if you told me like a therapist, what you were afraid of when you were seven. I’d like if you were to invite me in and then lock the door behind us, turn on reruns of Taxi and make us both seven and sevens. I’d like it if you just let me in.
If I had to tell you how to look pretty for me then we’d be missing the point entirely. You look best when you’re being pretty for you, when you don’t remember that I’m looking, when you cover yourself in flowers in lay by the window and wait for the sun to come up.