Thinking life

could be contained by mere words, you throw two into the air, carelessly because you were asked too soon for, well, something someone could live a day by, and without so much as a minute to consider what it is you will hand over, and because you have to go where you will be expected to throw out more words and catch them in return; you leave not knowing that when you come back, what you had so impulsively given will not take the form you had expected it to take (because where you had gone, you had time to form a notion of forms even if it meant shaping them in between, well, words).