Love -- to some lost souls, a nearly meaningless word; they think it is a farce to play at, a maze of lies that hides reality.

They try to narrow their circles, a death spiral of anonymity, playing falsehood's dice, the traitor's game.

They count on their nearest and dearest confidantes keeping the untold secret. In horror, sleepers awaken to the ruined dreams in which they've bedded.

Questioning oneself, testing oneself nearly to death only to realize, perhaps we have been wrong.

Casting the bait into the river of love, we expected to feast, but instead we are starving.

We hoped for a future, but our nets are torn by the sudden nightmare of wondering, knowing something is wrong.

I know that love is more than a game, but every game has two players. This was a game of light and shadows, and for many years, the shadows were winning.

Now that the light has broken, shadows cannot last.
The game has ended, and suspicion's hounds chase the last foxes of duplicity to ground.

No longer will the craven blackguards and destroyers of innocent virtue eat at this table.

One taste of this flavor was enough, imagined or real, dreamed or undreamed.

Love is more than a game, more than a flavor.
Love is eternal and this was less than a lie.