She bursts home with her usual enthusiam with her company. Finding it too warm, she sheds her sweater, tosses it casually in her usual manner on the closest chair, and busies herself in the kitchen with a little help. The smell of fresh ground coffee soon percolates through the air as the conversation keeps up its steady clip.
Topics are touched upon, subjects skimmed, and dreams are dabbled upon before becoming full blown agendas, detailed down to the dinner settings. Music plays. Eyes catch, bodies brush. The hours race by and too soon she finds that their mugs are empty and the night is over. Sincerely saddened goodbyes are exchanged and after one final embrace, she closes the door behind her night's company. After a pause, she returns to the room and notices something that proves to warm her more than all that came before; her sweater lies neatly folded on the counter.
...
See I'm all about them words
Over numbers, unencumbered numbered words
Hundreds of pages, pages, pages for words
More words then I had ever heard and I feel so alive
--"You and I Both," Jason Mraz
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