Once....
There was a young man,
Fell desperately in love.
She who had his heart
Was all he could think of.

There was a young woman,
So lonesome and so sad.
She didn’t mind the company
Of he whose heart she had.

Everything he had, he gave,
In hopes for love, and more.
But though she gave her heart and mind,
She gave them slow and sore.

Strangled by his strong affection,
The woman pulled away,
But equally afraid of freedom,
Still she tried to stay.

Desperate himself, he feared
(And maybe rightly so),
That if he once let go his grip,
That she would up and go.

If love is a game, they played it,
A competition to the last--
Him, to hold her tight forever,
And her to leave his grasp.

And so, selfish and contemptous,
Neither love was pure.
What once was sweet and kind
Became a constant scourge.

But if one was more to blame,
Then surely it was she,
Who knew there comes no happy ending
From such disunity.

And the one was more at fault
Who for a year kept on trying
To feel feelings she did not,
And to them both kept lying.

When at last she had the strength,
The bitter truth was told.
She broke the poor man to peices,
Left him confused and cold.

And what more sorrow did she feel,
And what kind of regret?
She hated him who loved her so
For all the time ill-spent.