of being the fool

Take my heart in your hands. I’ve been waiting for someone that I could trust with it. Don’t hold it too tightly though, for nothing is certain and until I can say what I truly feel, it will always be mine to take back.

I won’t need to explain why.

Still, if that happens, I will leave you with a souvenir – just a small piece of it, something to remember me by, to remember what could have been, to remember dreams created so easily, when we once believed that they could happen. Or at least I could believe, being the fool that I am. The Queen’s fool.

 

Look how I jump through the hoops, look at how I make you laugh. Pick a card. Adore me for my tricks, laugh with me, at me, until the night is done and I am alone again thinking that I forgot to bring something with me from the performance.

yes, my heart. That must be why the hollows of my chest hurt, why I scream while alone, why you cry pretending you’re me.

 

The words I am careful not to say to you, these words I question. Of course I do. It’s easy to say until it is meant in a different way, and then everything changes. The most common words in any language; “I love you.”. Why is it so much easier to say when meant lightly? I can say these words to dear friends and mean them with all my heart without a second thought, but to you – they can’t be said without again reaching inside and ripping out my heart, offering it to you on a tarnished silver platter with the words, those words, as garnish. You already know what you’re getting, but do you know what I’m willing to give?

 

Strange, the seasons. Years of barren fruit on the vine, but when you came with the cold and rain it blooms and my heart remembers itself. My heart remembers itself and they come. We laugh, play, dream, but underneath I do everything I can to fight it. I am not a weak man but in your arms I surrender. In your arms I will fight until death as long as I know that they will be wrapped around me one more time… but there are others that beckon. Others that aren’t stopped at the door.

 

How long should I wait? How long can I? You compromise me because I let you. I could be everything to you if you let me, but that’s the hitch in this dance – you need to allow me to. If you do, I can only promise worlds. Worlds created in an instance of weakness and strengthened over time.

 

I will forever be the hopeful romantic, but I’m weary of being the fool.

 

I don’t need to explain why.

 

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