In a common theme of "Don't say a word,"
I have found my backlit revelations.
A lack of knowledge is understood
Because anymore would do no good,
So it is taken with a smile as fact.
My hair stays gray and remains intact,
I also could have gone to Brown,
But the adjective before the noun
Is pronounced with comical disbelief.
A tongue tied locks before two weeks,
Replaced with those picked by a theif
From the little names lit up on the screen.
And after a year,
I barely know what they mean to me.
Or what I've meant to them.
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