"Honey, what are you wearing?" I say as I enter the office late as usual. You cross your arms and make some sort of retort I don't really hear. Truth be told, i rarely hear what you say when I tease you, mainly because I'm too busy staring.
Yes. staring. I'm always staring at you, but not for the reason you might think.
You see, I've never hated your outfits, no matter what I say to the contrary. It's just that pretending to hate them has provided me with a reason to look, to gaze, at your lovely body and the flaming red hair that frames it.
Yes, your hair. That's another thing you don't know, I *need* to insult your hair. It's the only thing that I can do to stop myself from pushing it bak from your eyes, fingering it, leaning down to smell it.
Yes I love both you and your hair. And knowing that I can't have either, of you, makes both love and hate the colour red.