"Don't play hard to get,"
you say,
but I thought we weren't playing at all
because the labored breaths
and extended silences
we exchanged instead of words
were the conclusion to our never-published,
still-in-editing,
fairy tale love story

Your eyes held on
to the tears that had formed
so that they never really fell

And I held on
to our unspoken romance
and fell harder than expected

I thought I was the one
who jumped
but not without a little push
from you

I can't say I blame you
you just did what was best
but I guess I wasn't prepared
for best
to feel worst

So Boy,
I am not playing with anyone
or anything
(except with my necklace,
when I think about you)
and you are still plucking away
at my strings,
so softly
that I almost didn't notice

I guess I'm too familiar with the sound
to ignore it