Calling It

We said we're not calling it anything, but I'm lying if I don't call it good. The way you chew on all your straws, all your little quirks and your "flaws"; they're all just another reason to smile, if I keep getting to see you for a while. I'm not saying you're all that I need, I'm not moving faster than your lead; right now we barely know the score, don't know if there'll be something more. But I'm lying if I don't call it good, when we say we're not calling it anything. *** Mere days more and you send me a message, ruinous but rueful, you're sorry to say it. You say it's not me, that it's all on you, that forcing it is something you can't do; my first instinct was to doubt and mistrust, but I believe you're only doing what you must. I'm thankful to you for being sincere, not dragging it out, being kind and clear; but it's a bitter swill, tonight I quaff, since while I called it good, you called it off. Ruinous but rueful, you were sorry to say it, mere days ago and you sent me a message.