As you sat on the sidelines , watching Taylor record a song for her new album, The Tortured Poets Department, you had the job of seeing if certain lyrics fit with the beat or not. "Straight from the tortured poets department," Taylor sang, looking up at you to see your reaction. You nodded, walking over to her. She stopped singing, sitting on the couch with you. "So, I've been hiding this for two years. The fans are going to boo me at the Grammys." She joked, looking at you. You couldn't help but admire her beauty as she cuddled up to you. Platonically, she says. You felt immense pride, feeling your face heat up. Then, another thought popped into your mind. I mean, who was going to hold her like you? Nobody. No fucking body.