There is something about this night. There is something beside the different air, it’s burning. There is something in the sky, no one else can recognize. It’s beautiful without looking. It’s beautiful in my mind. There is something about the rhythm of music in the neighborhood. There is warmth. There is choice. Choice of loudness, choice to sing along.
There is something about, something about that laughter, and talking. You. There is something about you.
Must you know it. Must you care.
There is something about the cold mist during dawn. Cold. Air. Mist. Maybe you and maybe care, could somehow collide and fight the air. There is nothing wrong, of keeping a friendly fight. There is nothing wrong. Nothing wrong.
There is something strange that I suddenly wrote a nonsense paragraph in my notes. A night of random thoughts. A night of dreams and nightmares. There are those nights. A night when rhyming is right. A night of switching turns.
There is something about my hands. Quickly activating what my mind says.
There is something about everything, that particularly made everything.
And there is ending this last sentence.