Our sports

When I go skating now, it’s under the pretence
to stretch, get some fresh air and have my head blown clear
of all the pervasive thoughts and come back to sense,
to forget and get you blown out of there, my dear,

yet only to run right into the same old trap
of reflections of our dance night together,
despite trying to assert it was a misstep
as my interest in you just makes you madder,

so, in fact, I hope to come across you, per chance,
or catch a glimpse of you and you of me, at least.
But since I respect your, it seems, definite stance,
at the same time I try to avoid you and ceased

coming round your house or even along your road,
except for when I know for sure you are not home,
because if we met, I could hardly keep composed,
and to avoid the temptation to leave you some

mark, another token of my love still lasting,
but mostly end my rides on the swing in the park
grieving for you and sometimes also composing
as I keep rocking back and forth oft until dark,

ideas wildly running through my head and new
verses popping up. So this is the way I cope
with disappointments in life. And what about you?
What’s the coping mechanism giving you hope?

Is it running or the trips with your many friends?
What are you running from, always away from home
somewhere in the wide world, until your powers’ ends?
What are you running for? Why do you need to roam?

What do you want to achieve and prove, and to who?
Isn’t it just yourself you’re trying to outrun –
your past, reality, loneliness, feelings, too?
No matter how many medals for runs you’ve won,

it’s impossible to escape all this, trust me,
I have tried it. You just have to confront the truth.
Everyone’s got their inner demons, you see.
We could fill up each other’s hollow spot and soothe

each other’s hurts and combat the ghosts together.
You’re saying you’ve been lonely and long for a lass.
Why then don’t you allow me to love you, rather
than running away from me, who wants to be yours?

Say, who are you trying to persuade so hard
that the quote you shared was a mere marketing thing
to promote the cold brew? (The ad fits your own heart!)
More than me, you wished to convince yourself, I think.

Our affair likewise seems to have been a sport,
a game of chase between a mouse and a cat, though
it’s not clear which one is which and we are both short
of winning. But still, I don’t wanna let it go!

Once more you opened the door that should have stayed closed
and turned my world upside down with your tender hold.
But for you it meant much less than I then supposed.
It was too nice to be real. To think so was bold.

Maybe I only dreamt it up. How could I be
ever liked by some guy when in this I’m so lame?
Apparently, you only made great sport of me,
a momentary target of your flirting game.