I'll leave you a message
It'll say something about how nice your eyes are
I'll trail off into a thought about the cracks in the pavement I saw today
And then mention the lady who had bad perfume next to me in line
The days become fragments of moments and I forget what time things are at
I couldn't tell you what day it was but I can tell you what memory you are in
It's not often the sky opens it's big lips and smiles with it's white teeth
No, the frame that I put my picture in was presumed to be a big heavy one, painted dark black so that even the painted colours couldn't escape
I look off my balcony and start seeing people and not enemies
I start feeling at ease with the casual smiles of strangers
No one is here to bite me
"No time. There's no time.", You say.
"Find time, find time.", I say.
Because what is time? Time is just a collection of fragmented moments.
What is a moment?
A moment is purpose