It doesn’t mean a thing.

YOU DON’T KNOW ME. You fasten your seat belt praying we’ll make it by, wandering through streets and combing the radio stations for something to talk about. It’s no use.

Tomorrow’s like yesterday, sarcasm and leftovers annotated in monotony. Disbelief is charming at best, the harmful side effects of walking too close to the edge. I’m praying the patterns of skepticism will evade my mindful, pining, arduous and esoteric thinking. We’re kidding, you know.

“You wear your smile well.”

It’s no secret you’re going to make it up to me, the the words you lost are coming back in armor to rework themselves as promise. It’s no use, though useful in fact, I really love you. I really might love you.

Six o’ clock and maybe, I’m hoping we could forget the time. You’re telling the world you’ve got plans and likewise, I thought it hardly perceivable. Tomorrow’s like yesterday, and yesterday I wore my smile well. You’re unbelievable.

I can’t help, the wandering thought that maybe their eyes are not ready for that kind of beauty yet.