Trusting someone is like handing that a person a gun, certain he will not shoot you. Being smart is handing someone a gun without a bullet.



“You’re perfect”
He said as he stared at my naked body
As he stroked my neck down to my hips
As he rested my arms on his shoulder blades

“No, I’m not”
I replied as I reticently looked away
As I covered my chest from the cold
As my cheeks turned bright red from the compliment

He, then, laid me down
And his lips found its way to mine
I could feel the pressure as he’s on top of me
But there’s no pain but affection

He paused for a moment
“What’s wrong?” I asked curiously
“Nothing” he replied
“I just never thought that perfection can be grasped by my hands.”