still playing by Bogdan Dragos

that love is a
strange thing
we need
not remind
ourselves
again

too much has
been
said about
the damn thing
and not enough
has been
felt

we're not
getting anywhere
like that,
are we?

Rather than
talk about it
just allow
yourself to feel

Maybe go out,
open the trunk of
your car
and find
among the junk
the thick, white
rope
that not too long
ago circled her
throat

she wanted to die
that day
but you wouldn't
let her

followed her into
the forest, you
have. And tackled her
at the base of the
wide oak tree with low
branches

you robbed her
of her rope
like robbing an
elderly lady of her
purse in
some dark parking
lot

She cried and held
on to it
but you were more
determined

life won
over death that
day

life has to win over
death every day,
while death has to
score but one
victory
to win the war

quite the unfair
game

And in between the
two
there's always
love

without it,
the game has no
meaning in the
first place

Anyway, I'm still
playing. What
about you? 

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