Just another day.

It's a different kind of day

Or is it just another day?

I do not recall how easy this day became something different nor am I truly aware of how it lost significance so quickly.

Or has it always been just another day,

With an added value of temporal happiness then,

Which evaporated just as quickly as people walk away?

Perhaps none of you will understand these words that im forming here,

But it's alright,

It is meant for myself anyway.

words are only words when they are understood.

I suppose this means that all of these would be mere alphabets to your eyes.

And it's alright.

Some thoughts arent meant to be penned on paper anyway.

It is raining outside.

It is raining here in the bus too.