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I'm not one to play games.

I never understood the concept of playing hard to get. Why do the ones who don't care, get anything and anyone they want? By doing nothing at all, their hands are full; with everything. I am patient and I don't give up on people, instead, I give away second chances to the point second changes into multiples of the number itself. I don't see the need, the glorification of revenge.

I forgive.

You can do anything to me. Manipulate me to do things in your favour. Take my heart to places you will only abandon me at. Bring me flowers and prepare for me candlelit dinners only to spike my wine. Make me believe in the existence of even the slightest smidgeon of affection directed at me when it was always at another person. Make me a part of your ruse, it's what I deserve anyway.

It's what I deserve for always instigating dates and plans. For turning down appointments with friends and family to make myself free just in case you were. For making mental notes to bring you here whenever I stumble upon any place I think you might like. For reserving myself for you. For dressing, wearing my hair, a certain way I know you fancy. For choosing flats over platforms because I know it bothers you when I have to tread carefully. For considering your feelings.

I don't give up on people. Long after the dirt has covered the track, I still find my way. This stubborn belief that the you who once moved me with your honeyed words still exists for me to uncover again is akin to a light that cannot be snuffed, and the knowledge that those words were uttered mindlessly is still rendered useless because I will always find new excuses for that fact. He meant it, he probably just has trouble keeping to his word. He struggles to express himself sometimes. He's going through a rough patch.

Before I know it, I am complaining about you to friends but yet the minute I sense a backhanded compliment or subtle insult directed at you I am suddenly jumping to your defence.

I give too much, and I care too much, I could change. I could start caring a little less, replying a little slower, shortening my texts. I could start acting like every other girl in this screwed up 21st century world that we live in. Maybe I'd actually garner some affection and attention. But of whom? Thrill-seekers who are truth be told insecure, competitive bastards who are only looking to prove something to themselves; to gain reassurance that they still have it in them to make someone who previously could not give a shit, give a shit? But I would be acting, and I would be cheating you of my true self.

I actually like my true self. Call me needy, obsessive, dramatic, emotional, neurotic, clingy or hypersensitive. But I am full of heart, and I am full of honesty.

I will always be real with you.