I have been falsely informing to those who consult me about my plans for the weekend.
Alluding to being busy, but the truth is, I'm praying for a day of solidity.
While I rather detest open statements about life in poetry (I'm somewhat of a Romantic, you see),
I've open flame thawing freedom thickened, frozen.
How I miss the peace of solidarity (although I am never truly alone, which I am thankful).
Details would've been likely to proceed the previous line, but my time is not familiar with singularity at any given moment.