This little game

this little game I do not mind losing —
nothing is ever the way it seems.
if you decide that I’m not your music,
my little heart will not burst at seams,

my little world will unlikely shatter,
though it may crack in between the rhymes…
dreams held too loosely escape and scatter,
making me wonder “what if” sometimes…

what if we walked in that rain for hours,
would I be wondering any less?
letting old wounds open up like flowers,
tracing your warmth on my flowy dress?

would we have left our walls to crumble,
or decorated them tile-by-tile?
“I’m not in love…” — I’d begin to mumble…
(I’m not in love, but I love your smile).

you would have told me: “how could I settle,
bearing each day as it comes and slips?
(this damn nostalgia, it weighs like metal!
why is it stuck in between my ribs?)

trade in the stars for a painted ceiling,
fire for candles so softly lit?”
dear! oh dear! I know this feeling
but I don’t know what to do with it!

time will give in to the laws of physics,
and if you need me, I’ll play the part.
but let’s decide it: you’re not my lyrics,
hope that’s okay with your little heart.