She moves like the storm clouds gathering,

Her words sharp as glass,

A restless kind of energy

That never seems to pass.

She speaks in sharp, impatient tones,

A smile that’s quick to fade,

Her laughter like a wick that snaps—

A sound I can’t invade.

They all adore her every word,

Her charm, so quick and bright,

But to me it’s just a flicker,

A spark that burns too bright.

She thinks herself a force of light,

But I find it too much glare,

Her voice, a crackle in the dark,

While I breathe quieter air.