I don't know your language or cliches you toss about the mouth that tangles, touching something that doesn't taste as good just now.
I love how we're so general, the way we weave into a world of words so meaningless, generic limits that we can endow.
I'm just the girl in the hallway, hair pulled back and no distinguished features to imprint on you, and you're the same.
We'll say hello in passing and talk about the weather and the cold and complain about the inertia of the day.
In the evening when we leave we barely utter anything and act unknown to the face before, but say "good night"
Maybe that's just how I am and I don't want to be your friend as if you even cared; I know I don't and never might.
But it's just the game we toss about our mouths like cotton on the teeth or chalkboards drawn by dirty nails.
I give you nothing here that you can grasp and possibly ever carry back and in that, I don't see I've failed.
I love how we're so general, the way we weave into a world of universal glances, insignificance on an empty hand.
I don't know you're language or cliches that tangle and relentlessly get pushed out by your own command.