You look at me from across the table and half-smirk, emanating confidence and ease, the same as that corner of your mouth rests there, higher than the other, and you just watch me for a moment. An eyebrow is raised, and you’re daring me, waiting for me to reply. For me to continue this wit and banter.
And I pause, for a moment. My expectations are high. My standards are not easily reached. And you know this—we both know this—but you’re trying to get me to come down on them. To make it a little easier for you to slip into my heart. But I know this.
The funniest thing about it is that you know it too. But you’re so confident, so assured, that you’ll be able to pull it off. My determination is nothing in your path. I can see it in your easy smile. You think my requirements are just dreams, that they all can fall of no effect for you.
It’s almost cute, your arrogance.
But let me ask you this:
Who do you think you are? And since when do I need you?