We play cards.
You hide the cards close to you
and then you smile, saying you don't know this game.
You laugh, saying this game is absolutely new to you.
I trust you, implicitly
You almost let the cards slip, but then you catch them quickly.
I have a suspicious glimpse, but I discard it. I don't believe that you play false.
You put another card down.
I really believe you don't know the game.
I explain to you, gently. The rules.
You laugh and say you've understood.
I play a wrong card.
You tell me softly, how to play. You throw my words back to me.
I am won over, I am floored by your prowess.
You prevent me from playing wrong.
And then you play your cards.
You knew the game all along.
You've played it well.
You played games within games.
I stare lost, as you shuffle the cards once more, and start dealing them, at the same time unsure of my reaction.
I snatch the cards back, and I deal the cards.
