Recently, I've been thinking about all those unnecessary 'howareyous' with no space for answering and (equally common) 'extremelywelling' of every so-so. Because I don't want to shatter words' illusion about their meaning, I won't ask anything unless I want to know.
To change the topic, I'm sharing my poem written a few hours ago.
You don't understand
My tomorrow's already happened
And there won't be any replacement
My tomorrow joyfully pulsates in my veins
And loves telling stories of what it was
its round shape filling my breath tightly
its vibrant colours calling for vigorous dusting every day
its tranquil voice singing a lullaby
when I can't fall asleep
Its flame's too cold to be felt or noticed
but it's still burning my weary hands
Check this lovely oldie out!