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I’ve only ever felt at home at other people’s houses, and I’ll repeat myself; can’t you see I’m happy?
I know,
the favourite colour of your favourite person (doesn’t matter anymore).
I too feel it itch, till I laugh it off.
I too bleed pearls,
I too feel skintight,
which I confuse for;
colour in the heat of the moment. The quiet daze disguised as hushed sorrow.
That past encounter; glowing red, and can’t get out of it.
In love between eleven and twelve , skips entire hours.
Limitless feeling. Tender and inherently ablaze.
Warmhearted; love for friends,
for tomorrow morning,
our days are numbered,
ignoring the dishes together, the sharing of,
who accused you of being nice?
simultaneously tongue-tied, yet shouting;
Blue isn’t certain.

And not to be mistaken by;
All the colours in between.

I know, I’ll keep saying.

I know nothing.