Disclaimer: A thought of a loom came to mind, and a card game thought stepped in right next to it. Here is the result.
I fold.
My heart is a ball of twine, rough threads jumbled and looped together so tightly that their weight in common looms a minor weapon.
I fold.
The day you opened your heart to me, I felt cold chills race up my spine, the nape of my neck their finish line. You had me. At. Hello. God help me, that’s so cliché.
I fold.
You won my heart through the first ever moral sleight-of-hand; you were just--you. Musically, verbally, emotionally, you did card tricks with my happiness, slid me an ace of truth, and sealed the perfect game for my heart. Trump cards from life’s tricky hands sliced at me, but you slyly winked and deftly passed a smooth little queen of hearts to love me through the cut.
I fold.
Partnering with you was the perfect game. I can’t be a solo player anymore.
I fold.
The twine inside me unravels itself. Rough surfaces are loved to smoothness, deeper cores gently freed. Love of mine, I’m free to love you back.
I fold.
We deal.
