If I were to be true to myself, I’d choose to spend time with you.
If I were not confused, I’d say with all certainty and sincerity that it is you.
And if I were strong enough, I’d bare my heart and soul to you even if it would mean vulnerability.
But I’m not. I still have that old habit of playing charades. Stopping would signify the possibility of fatality. The game has become my veil to mask my fear for what’s real.
You, yourself love to play this game. I know why. It is because you also know that there is no wonder or prestige, or even bliss at the very least, in being a fool. There will only be hurt and sorrow.
But I’m starting to get tired of this silly game. Haven't you?