!

V: !
U: Why?
V: *growls*
U: *blank look*
V: I'm what is called an enthu cutlet today!
U: *blanker look*
V: Yeah, basically..
*stops mid-thought, that time when another thought pulls out its fly-swatter and bumps off the previous one*
U: What does it mean?
V: It means that I just can't still today.
U: You could just be itchy.
V: No! Ahh.. it's more about being really full of life for everything in general..
*the word general fades out like a disheartened comet's tail*
U: Okay.
*Silence sits conspicuously on the table. It yawns, stretches, scratches its face and twitches a bit. Finally, it*
.
..
...
V: !

No blankets

She has a way about her.
Brief welcomes, keenly felt goodbyes.
Incapable of small talk.
Makes you need to believe in something.
Walks on long roads, alone. Deepens breaths.
Has no tricks of light, no promises.
Freezes fingertips.
Electrocutes you and clenches your fists. In anger, no.
In protest of being wrecked and shaken and changed.
Makes you see Polaroid grainy.
Steals your breath, makes it white.
Burns with the sharpness of frost.
Gentles with mist and breeze.

Don't draw the curtains. Don't tighten, don't soften.
Don't close. Don't withdraw. Don't wrap, don't leave.

Let her in.

(Photo Source)