You of yesterdays.

I used to make your smile, back when our laces were tied. Dancing them words—shimmy they went around. My jest, trivial: my front and side tells. Now, I ponder if I lacked earnestness. Strides of luck rose sometimes—propelled and grubbed to keep on the fool. My lack of discernment concrete. As she looked for someone who wasn't me. And I wasn't my own very self. l had left my authentic face. I, the pantomime buffoon—surmised her so little. Now I wonder when she's not so bitter. Indelible to her heart, if that's even the case. If she even cares. Who knows, but I lost my game of chess.