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)