i am strong.
i am handsom.
i am smart.
i am caring.
i am perfect.

i am a lair.

i've always loved peoples hands.
the way the joints move, so gracefully.
the way they can be soft and gentle, or rough and strong.
i love the way veins run up peoples knuckles and the way they clinch their fists.
i've always marveled over the way couples hold hands, how they rub their fingers against each others.
or how children cling to their mothers index finger, maybe even thumb.
i study peoples hands from a far and take in all their triumphs, all their pain, and i wonder what complications they are holding in those soft and gentle hands.

you always loved card games.
slaps, war, jacks.  you name it, we played it.
but your favorite card game was called hearts.

we dealt our love, feelings, friends. we threw them all on the table.
you had me deal my heart.

and we played.

like always, since it was your favorite, you won.
taking what was dealt on the table and walking out.

i still think about this wicked game you played. and i still think about my heart. i wonder if it beats for you, i doubt it would. but sometimes in the earlier hours if the morning ill see you.

and i can feel my old heartbeat in my fingertips, slowly drifting me off to sleep. and making me think, if part of me still longs to play the game.

maybe the love i feel for you now will slowly rot away into bottomless pain.
but i rather risk it all for you, my wildflower.

sometimes i fade away into empty bottles of ***,
and unsmoked cigarettes.
instead of fading away into your arms.
i find this quite sad