His favourite lie

I am a fool…
Oh, yes, I indeed am.
To wear my heart on my sleeves,
Every time, at every Spring’s leaves.


Every time he comes back,
I hope it would be for a long time now.
That he will care, love, want me,
That in his heart, I…me…us, he will allow.


But every time, he comes,
It's just to play his moves.
Like, it is his turn to play the dice,
He is the fire that burns me, and I'm the melted ice.


Why does he do this to me always,
every time he comes…only to go away.
Why does he pull me close, and then push me away?


Why does he say all those nice things?
Why does he give me wings?
Why does he make me fly and take me so high?
Why does he say that he loves me…is that his favourite lie?