I finally found the courage to tell her
what I had waited for months to tell her:
Quite simply, that I had acted foolish
and had only wanted to impress her.
Naturally, she assured me that
there was no need for me to be sorry,
that she understood it all, and, smiling,
bid me: “good evening.”
I knew I had just been rejected, and I
sadly skulked away, not yet thankful
for her subtle cruelty, which so
swiftly clarified the boundary
that I had crossed when, unsolicited,
I had given her my poetry.
Now it all seems a very trifling matter.
These love games always appear so dire
until we get a chance to count our losses,
which in the end essentially always amounts
to nothing.
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