Games bring us into puzzling, mind numbing, body jolting, nerve-racking, and addictive realm once you are so into it. There are times, so many times, that you should’ve followed your gut and just fucking quit, but the intricacy of the game is like an enchanting spell casting on you, luring you into its deepest depth until you reach the precipice – the crucial ‘fight or flight’ response.
And guess what, you chose to fight, despite red flags and black cats emerging in your dreams and peripheral vision. You keep on coming back as if there’s no other dimension of reality awaiting and craving for your presence.
You chose to fight (and this is the first time you fight hard for something that you really want) because you thought that fighting reciprocates winning, but it will never be, because cliche as it may sound, but that’s how you lost in the game, in his game… it was completely his game, to begin with.
“How could the devil transform into a semblance of an angel when he smiles?” you desperately ask yourself, without really expecting an answer, but a warm gust of air brushed on your worn-out face, seemingly caressing your bloodshot and weeping eyes.
Maybe it’s the look in his eyes, his trail of scent on your pillowcases or the way he held you at night, but he, certainly, has a way of tugging your strings – and that’s the game: him, tugging your fucking strings and you, being the fucking vulnerable you, letting his action deceive you in the cruelest and realest way you can only imagine.
His game, certainly, lured you into this puzzling, mind numbing, body jolting, nerve-racking, and addictive realm. Yet, you regret nothing and you wouldn’t have it any other way, even though, the worst part is not really losing in his game, but losing yourself while playing the game.