Unscripted.

Words. Words and some more words. Meaningful, rarely. Always careless. We're thrifty with our sentences, our clauses. Some die and others pass away. They swoop past our ears and fly off our tongues without mostly meaning to mean. Steamy cups of coffee brim with the pungency of grounded, powdered beliefs while the heat carries our words across to one another. And names. We share the same names but never do I wonder if we share the same consequences of that pool of alphabets. Wouldn't it be so much better if we never had to use words to explain how and what we feel as our grays grow grayer and reds renege to maroons; without every thought trying to adjust its tone to the hues of these coffee-shop walls every second to second? If you just understood, with one contemplating glance and simply knew. Only knowledge... no words. But I guess the thoughts you read are a product of the words you choose to glue together.
Now we stare, blocking out the sounds of swinging doors, creaking floors and the hubbub that are words that we choose not to own, ones which never meant anything to us. We continue to look and search for explanations. But before you settle back into the armours I think I will open my mouth to speak, erasing fragments which will never fit into the human scale of words. I think I will use words again.