Lover In the Background

A day feels like mist of the wee hours, once again I regale myself with the buzz and the fuss Coaxing my heart out of sulking for it is an utter melancholy and slightly a jest TO MISS THE WIND KEENLY FELT BUT CANNOT BE GRASPED A tad mockery to be often left by my own home as though giving away is almost granting the world a consent to steal from me Yet I live through those tiny pleasures and loud celebrations ceaselessly shining your humble crown for even my heart then stands on the highest pedestal