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Long was the time that I sat in the stands of the stadium that we call love. Amply filled with great crowds, cheerleaders and bands yet devoid of all bats, balls and gloves. As couples were scattered all over the field each dutifully playing their games. Variations abounded, equipment to wield but their searching hearts all were the same. One person would toss their heart up in the air arcing high toward the one of their choice. Hoping white knight so handsome, or lady fair would then hearken to their calling voice. Some tossed it in fear as it left their hands hopeful eyes staring wide as it flew. Carrying all of their hopes, and dreams and plans to a stranger, they just barely knew. If another would catch the heart they had cast and care for it now as their own. This long search for love would finally be past and their life's dearest wish thus be known. Some would play games within games, vengefully having often been hurt in the past. Pretending to pitch their heart high, wide and free 'till their partner's heart also was cast. Then they'd stand back and smile, triumphant and cruel withered heart tightly clenched in one fist. Watching the eyes of the one they had fooled letting heart hit the ground, "oops, I missed." Others did find that the challenge would cease when the one so pursued did respond. Once caught, that heart, in disgust they'd release and craving for new thrills - move on. Still others would hurl their heart up on a dare for they felt the game clock would soon stop. Desperately hoping that one unawares would somehow catch their heart 'fore it dropped. Teenagers abounded in aimless accord in a mad, frantic search they would roam. Taking dangerous risks they ill-could afford with their fast-changing fickle hormones. Some couples would toss their hearts at the same time mutual trust grown through long self denials. Knowledge and faithfulness respected, sublime synchronized through great joys and great trials. Still numerous figures were scattered around prostrate or kneeling, eyes with tears. Losers in love lifting from the hard ground broken hearts cruelly hurt through the years. Most players wore masks with a smile-painted stare so their true, honest self would not show. Unmasking was rare, without trust who would dare? Their true face even They did not know. Young children would play the game sitting alone a variation, so lonely hearts say. Bright flower in hand as they would intone whilst throwing each petal away... "He loves me, yes; he loves me , no" a small one softly chants. "She loves me, yes; She loves me, so is this my true romance?" How randomly e'en our children are taught to play at this love-matching game. By counting of petals, pretend love is sought hopefully when repeating a name. Yet I was amazed that this game was allowed without structure, umpires or rules. Just millions of people all wand' ring around the wise, the na´ve, and the fools. All trying, some failing, yet playing their part for there's always another to choose. Hoping the next will catch their aching heart as each time a small part they lose. No system is perfect, no game is assured with humankind's complex, love-matching. And certainly not in the somewhat absurd this rule-less, at-random, heart-catching. I sigh as I make my way down from the stands walking out on that chaotic field. My precious heart now gently held in my hands smiling mask as my beckoning shield. "I'll not make mistakes as these others have done" I fervently promise inside. "When my time comes to play I'll know the right one with reason, not impulse, my guide." Then I see a fair player out on that green field a Vision I thought could never be. Her hair floats on the wind as my will starts to yield I approach slightly closer to see. Then "SHE" smiles at me, and what can be said as emotion deals reason a blow. Her mask looks so sweet as desire rules my head I smile wide and then let my heart... GO!
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