I hesitated, not wishing to call it out.

My cards splayed out on the table,

the dealer looking at me expectantly

…and you?

Your cards are held close to your chest

and I cannot tell what floats in your eyes,

and the dealer perhaps knows,

but His face remains neutral.

You steal glances at me,

perhaps looking to see what cards I hold,

and I gather myself over them,

leaning over the table,

leading you with my smile

but nervous and anxious at the same time.

I know what is on the line,

and what my limits are.

These unexpected cards that I have been dealt

seem to whisper in my ear for me to call out,

to turn them all over and say eff it

and take that chance.

But I know my limits.

As do you.

You glance at me occasionally

And I catch you trying to read me.

I look at the dealer,

looking for a hint, some help, some indication

that my way now is the right move

but He gives me nothing. Silence reigns.

My heartbeat thumps in my ears,

and yours remains undetectable.

You are cool and collected,

I am getting hot and nervous,

sweat beading down my face, into my eyes,

crowding out the voice that implores me to

ignore your perhaps-ness and what-if hooks.

My heart quickens, my eyes blink,

my lips purse and,

I pass on the hit.

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