There’s just something in the way you overrate me, things that maybe I don’t live up to, but it makes me smile. Every pattern draws into oblivion – the past, and into the future. Most of my words go unspoken, because honestly, I’m unsure of myself. I’m desperate to find a truth in a delusion, everything could just pass as coincidental. The messages that I feel are sent to me may not be a message for me, maybe it’s just fiction my mind wrote.