With the evening's fog that lingered on the streets longer than it was meant to, it felt some sort of magical ain't it. The illusion that everything around you was just a passing car or clock hand swing and all that mattered were the words in exchange.
Or it could just be that I'm romanticising things but I like it that way, you see.
Ethereality has a certain attractiveness to it, one I can't quite put in words.
I don’t want to know what time it is.
I don’t want to know what day it is or where I am.
None of that matters.