Preceeded not once by a warning sign, and prior experience forgotten, a crush

Is discovered when one spots The One and their heart abruptly pulls the brakes. 

All of a sudden a sensation of falling,

Yet floating compels one into a game,

That constantly starts and restarts,

Seeking to solve the profound question, "Is it just "like" or is it LIKE?"

Quite suddenly, the casual exchange of greetings is like

Planning a fireworks show, trying to preform a dazzling display of spontaneosity to once's crush,

And, like an art dealer, assuring that this bright personality and witty attitude are just the start

Of everything that makes you, you. Or perhaps, the breaking

Of preexisting boundaries, the cozy comfort of friendship, suddenly shifts as we begin a matchmaking game,

Like "Ring around the Rosie", hoping that, together, into these new feelings we'll fall.

Although, for those of us who acknowledge the falling

Sensation as all too familiar, "Liking"

Someone and having played this game,

Enough to be called "experts", if we do say so ourselves, are able to both act upon feelings for a crush,

And cope with a potiential heartbreak,

Knowing, by now, that the heart has the capactiy to repair itself and restart.

And yet, there may be those of us whose start

Button appears stuck, who are too frightened from falling

Once before, and thus slam the brakes

Upon any attemps, thinking to ourselves that, "Know one would go out with the likes

Of me, or cope with a heart already crushed."

We feel like the pawns already removed from the game.

To our winter soldiers, we salute your previous passion for a game

That most of us restart 

Every turn like a boardgame of Sorry. Your crushes

Developed into something we look for, the true feeling of falling

In love that we so attribute to just "liking"

Someone. For us, the heart mends slowly but surely for every little break.

The heart is an anomaly; falling for those that would break

It, and eagerly enjoying this suffering like "Game

Of Thrones" reruns playing back to back. And like

Masochists, we restart

The game and return ourselves to this frightening feeling of falling.

And all, perhaps, for someone who may not like us after all: that oblivious crush.

Yet, how could we deny it? To like someone and feel the breaks

Mend whole, To like our crush enough to forefeit the silly game,

And start again for want of the exhilarating thrill of falling.