Spade of Hearts

I've been gambling with you for a month now. Not that you notice it or that I want you to. But, the thrill of the gamble is becoming an obsession; very isolated from the harsh truth that one of these days I will have to see what my third card is. I say things that mean things, never subsituting the obscurity that these things bring along with them. And aren't you a poker face? That is intended to be less rhetorical than it comes across as. Maybe you aren't. But you come across as. Specially when you stone wall my affection. But people don't know, that when it's just us, you let it be. That you laugh even at my silliest jokes, momentarily letting the string loosen, and the marbles dissimitate. Because that is how you are when you laugh, and then you gather them to yourself, cautiously treading again, wondering whether you've given too much away. You haven't. I've just taken too much away. From me and you. Even as I write this I know I'm probably riding for a fall. But I do it in the hope that one of these days you'll drop your pouch of marbles and drop more than just marbles and drop them too far and wide and won't bother to pick them up again. Marbles are supposed to be played with, not kept in a pouch. I'll play along till you call me a cheater. Because, we both know, that nobody will win.

Then wear the gold hat if that will please her,
And if you can bounce high,
Bounce for her too,
Till she cry,"Lover!
Gold-Hatted, High-Bouncing Lover!
I must have you."
- Thomas Parker D'Invilliers

Are you getting stressed? You know me. I'm probably kidding.

Stand by me,

Rishi.