The running man

This is what I did not tell you last night:

I enjoyed the chase. More than all the late night talks and early morning coffee, the gaiety of thinking you are someone out of reach perfected the experience. The thrill of knowing you want to be caught in the grim triggered the masochistic side of me. After all, you said the childish games were behind your years.

When you pointed out I misunderstood a book you love, I did everything to oppose you.It was a discussion the world can just let go. but you wouldn't let me win. I have to play my cards before finally conceding that you were probably right. The hour we spent discussing was enough.

It turned out, you want some quest too. You want to chase and be chased. For me, it completely run afoul your search for,quoting you, a serious relationship. You cannot just let me tag you every time you feel the urge to pursue. If you really want something more than a summer fling, treating what we had as a game was a stride on the wrong side of the road. The game has rules and you cannot just bend it for your sake.

To blame you for all is a mockery on my part. I refuse to be chased, not when I am enjoying being the it. If we play your game, then I'll play it in my own method. I blame myself for not restricting the race to the two of us. For all your diversions along the field, I let other people chase you despite knowing how eager you are to be chased. With all the guys on the road, my refusal to be chased seemed futile.

I told you I'm not worth the chase and you took that as a fact. You never tried. The truth is, if I let you chase me, you wouldn't even catch me. If placed on the other side of the game, my instinct would tell me to run, never-ending run. I was made to self destruct. Like an atomic bomb, the faster I get, the easier for me to burst. And for what I thought we had, I don't want to be that bang.

The chase was good. But we slipped briskly into a game we know we could never win.