The words had been there once. In them, with them, between them, around them—the words had been plentiful and had held them close. Their words had pattered about on eager feet, played between them on quiet afternoons, demanded their stories long into the night. They had never tired of the stories, of each other, of the mysteries that remained in words not yet spoken.
But those words had grown: more tired, more familiar, more infrequent. By now the words had gone, leaving behind an empty nest, an empty place they could not fill. And so they sat, leaving a space for the silence between them, with nothing left to say.
Issue 8 & 9
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