When it's not a game...

The problem is that even if you said "I love it", I'd not believe you. Julien, I no longer know when you're playing and when you are not. I'm lost. Wait, I'm not finished. Tell me you love me. Tell me because if I tell you first, I'm afraid you'll think it's a game. Help me, please.

.........Sophie, Jeux d'enfants

It feels like a game when one weaves words from a story into reality. It becomes a guessing game when one hides a word behind a word, a line between a line, a story within a story. It's been a dark habit that I've been trying to run away from but every time I slow down, thinking that I've finally managed to get away from it, Dark Habit sneakily sneaks up on me, taps my left shoulder and says in the sneakiest of voice, "Boo!"

Why the fascination with words? I ask myself.

Do I like playing games? I know I most certainly do not. But why then?

And why had I chosen to write all of the above instead of my initial simple one liner? I don't know.

But just so you know, I did try my best to leave it simply write the following:

"I laughed as they drowned in cement. Endless love at it's literal best! Not a typical love story but definitely my cup of sweet lovely tea. (:"