I followed you, because you asked me to come.
And then you started
running away. I thought you were playing, that you wanted me to run
after you, to catch you, to kiss you, to make love to you.
But every time I caught you, you wriggled out of my grasp and ran in
another direction: sometimes faster, sometimes slower. But you always
wore a sly grin as if daring me to miss out on the opportunity of maybe
getting to see inside your soul.
I am tired of playing. I am tired of chasing. I want you more than I
can say; but I’m winded with having to run after you over and over again
without any time to enjoy satisfaction. I’m done.
Written by J. A. Busfield on December 27, 2011
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