The Ink Was Silent And So Was He

Maybe

It had not been the first place she'd looked, but she found the silent boy laying in a deep corner of Central Park. In today's day and time, you might have feared for them. For no innocent pair of teenagers should be alone there without light. But people were better in 1952. Much better. And it was after watching them that night I realized, time is not the reason people get worse. It is loss of memory. And the choice to grow up much too fast. They managed to escape the world that night, found a hole in time just big enough to fit through. But they couldn't have known. No, youth can't learn the wise's instinct that quickly. You would have to be truly blind to see that.
"Now that I've found you, you must tell me your name." Adelaide softly demanded. She was gentle, knew that volume would never be the answer unless it was a contest for the loudest scream. She sat beside the boy, and he again wrote on a notepad. After a few seconds, he gave it to her.
'Why does my name matter?' Was his question.
"Because everyone has a name. And I'm particularly curious about yours." She replied.
He wrote for a while.
'You can call me Silent. Because that is what I am to you.'
"What if I don't know what you are to me yet?" Was her quick response. He smiled for the first time that night.
'You should make up your mind then. And I'll wait for you.' He wrote in his blue ink. And she could not help but feel that with every word he wrote to her, a piece of her heart was enveloped carefully and sent to him, marked with the Fragile stamp. Because in this world, it seems that the most precious things are the most easily broken.
'How fast do you think a person can fall in love?' He passed the note to her slowly, and maybe his question caught her off guard, but there was no time to wonder, for he believed her answer was very important.
"Depends if they are meant for each other or not." She sighed as she relaxed beside him. Adelaide closed her eyes until she felt something placed in her hand.
'They are.' It said.
"Then almost immediately." She whispered. And the boy would remember those words until he forgot the color of the sky.