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You're probably staring at this picture right now, trying to imagine what my feet smell like after a long day. You can look all you want through that screen, loser, zoom in, save the image, whatever gets you off. But you'll never know how sweet they taste or how intoxicating they smell after I've been walking around all day in high heels. My feet are perfect because I'm perfect, and you? You're just some pathetic nobody dreaming about something you'll never have. Keep staring. It's the closest you'll ever get. And you know what? Even if you were here, kneeling right in front of me, I still wouldn’t let you touch them. You don’t deserve to. I’d just laugh while you squirm and beg, watching your pathetic face turn red with desperation. My feet are flawless, soft, smooth, and they smell like victory. Your fantasy ends at this screen. That’s your place: behind glass, always wanting, never having. Now go ahead, stare a little longer. It’s kind of cute how hopeless you are.