"Do you love me?" The words were pressed against her tongue, waiting. But there never seemed a right time to say them.
"Do you love me?" She hated herself for needing to know. After all, his breath mixed with hers often enough to shut anyone up.
"Do you love me?" She whispered into the wind so he wouldn’t hear.
"Do you love me?" She said, but what she really meant was, "I need to know you love me before I do something stupid, like let you in."
What she really meant was, “you have seen me naked, all skin on skin, but will you stay if I let you see me raw?”