I followed you, because you asked me to come.
And then you started running away. I thought you were playing, that you wanted me to run after you, to catch you, to kiss you, to make love to you.
But every time I caught you, you wriggled out of my grasp and ran in another direction: sometimes faster, sometimes slower. But you always wore a sly grin as if daring me to miss out on the opportunity of maybe getting to see inside your soul.
I am tired of playing. I am tired of chasing. I want you more than I can say; but I’m winded with having to run after you over and over again without any time to enjoy satisfaction. I’m done.