You Don't Own Me, Mr Billionaire
She strides into any room and tilts the world off its axis, gliding through my house as though she owns the deed while daring me to push her out.
She needles my limits just to gauge my temper and every time I refuse to snap, her frustration morphs into fascination. I wonder what she'd do if I shoved back, let her believe she was under my skin.
She'd probably crank the heat even higher.
Ours will never be a soft, gooey sort of marriage. That’s not who we are. We’re gasoline and the match. One of us will spark, the other will feed the blaze. Sooner or later we’ll blur together, unable to tell who struck first or who fanned the flames. All I know is that I want to burn with her, for her, becaus