Let me open this dear old book,
That once I thought I had not left unhooked,
About a spark that didn't quite ignite
But its embers play stories to my night.
Amid the cracking of the embers, my mind replays
Of younger days when we were all but gay.
Not so long ago, I must say,
You took many a moment's breath away.
A boy whose locks I could only envy,
And whose spirits so free, it brought chills to my rigidity.
But the one I was with was not you,
And I believe, you were happy too.
There were mutual glances; we did not entertain.
There were stakes, plenty, but there was no game.
Could you lose something you've never had?
I did not play well the hand I had.
In my ears, your words resonate.
"She's a handful," was all that it took
For me to forget and hook close this book,
Never to look back on or regret.
I find myself musing, half a decade later,
He's a man now, but I am still who I am.
