There's no time, there's me.
My existence is fleeting and presence inconspicuous,
My absence is fading and effect, almost over.
People who function according to time, scare me.
People who function according to me, don't exist.
I'm invisible, yet inevitable to them.
If that's not pretence then what is?

There’s a lost-in-thought face,
An angry and serious mode.
A bite-my-lip way to cover a glitch,
Chin-up, rhythm right walk.
A peculiar expression when he’s with me,
Just like when he’s with his cigarette.
Full smirk, half smile and some tears,
Unshed, just like things he wanted to say but couldn’t.

2am is more like an uncalled-for me-time.
Like a fragrance kept safe for special occasions.
It does its trick but people don’t recognise you with that scent.
Even better, what if people didn’t recognise you at all?
You’ll be at a lesser risk of being judged.
Being a different person everyday will be your new high.
‘Starting afresh will come in handy.
You’ll have only 24 hours to like, dislike or know someone.
Until you know that that person has become a memory.
I often do that with my 2am moments.
Forget who I met and poured-out-to at that time.
Time for some but a lifetime for me.
2am, do you promise to always accept me as who I am?