the walks, the casual talks, the evident smiles– messing around for a while, the shared stories, along with the hot calamari, the touches, the warmth, the old, the normal, the usual, the life without the masks.
desires for shallow deeps chained yet detached inadequate worth monotonous fun filled with emptiness don’t you get it? we’re just hollows trying to matter
I heard them say that the clock is ticking but we should take our time. And so I did. Only to discover that they've mistaken— it's a bomb, not a clock.