The Game

It's not fun anymore. This game you've created has evolved; the rules have changed. You're not keeping up. You can't even hold up your end of the bargain. How can you expect me to hold up mine? Believing the lies you tell yourself is the coping mechanism of the weak-minded. Believing the lies you tell me is the coping mechanism of the broken hearted.

When given the opportunity to shine, you choose to shade. When given the opportunity to love, to be loved, you run away. You walk across my earth because I am strong enough to hold your weight, but you take no care, watering flowers in other fields. The footprints left behind you are forgotten as soon as they are laid. How I shift, mold to your gait, caress your soles, completely unnoticed beneath you.

I'll never be the fire burning your life down, the air you flow boundlessly through. I'm the ground you travel and only notice when I'm gone. You found me, joined my path, said all the right words, carved your place in my heart. Poured yourself in when I was too shattered to filter, took the little I had left. The chase was effortless because I was weak. The game is over because I let you in.