words

He combed through all the boxes that held her words, big ones and small ones flowing like rivers up and down pages and like a river pulling with it anything in its path, downward, downward all the way to nowhere.

He thought they’d be endless, as if there would always be words left to say, even when there weren’t really any words at all. Where one sentence ended, the next started seamlessly and with no limitations. It may have been difficult to see then, that words speak louder than actions, although isn’t it the other way around?

The largest words were saved for last and then followed by an utter silence. That had happened before, long pauses and large voids but with an agreement that there’d always be words yet to come.

Somewhere along the way he gathered all the letters, along with rocks and feathers, a love note from strangers and a handprint, tore them to pieces, crossing words out with a thick black pen. Going through them now, large bits and pieces were missing, a jigsaw puzzle you could never complete. His mind scrambled trying to fill in the blanks, but somehow everything had been erased years ago. Maybe it was for the best. These pieces of memories long lost were witness to more than words ever could be. He never told her how angry he used to be. How much she let him down. How he longed for her to tell him the truth. Did she string him along all those years? Was it all just a game?

By the end of the story he had finally come clean. Revealed all of his shortcomings and how he wanted the story to end. And all he was left with were these torn pages, fragmented promises and a dirty feather that had once seemed meaningful.