Finally, the carriage arrived at the new location for the documents. They were all unpacked and loaded into boxes. The Constitution ended up in the same box as the Declaration of Independence. The Constitution tried to stay as far away as possible from the Declaration, but the box was small and there weren't many other documents in there.
The Declaration of Independence didn't want the Constitution to stay away. The Declaration of Independence had liked the intimate moment between the two documents. When the Constitution had rolled away, the DOI had been sad. That five minutes of reading each other's words had been the highlight of the document's life.
Finally, the documents were unpacked and tied up with fancy red ribbons. Even if the Declaration had wanted to read the Constitution's words again, he wouldn't be able to. Documents didn't have hands that could untie fancy red ribbons.
The Constitution was starting to like the Declaration of Independence. It had looked up to it in the beginning, but now, ever since that moment, the Constitution was beginning to like the Declaration of Independence in a different way; a more intimate way.
The Big C thought about its feelings, but it was hard. The document had never felt this way before. The Constitution tried to think of a word to describe it, but it couldn't. It was beautiful, strange, foreign. It was nothing it had ever felt before. It was hard to think of the word. The document wasn't sure it existed.
The Declaration of Independence, for the first time in its life, was shy. The intimate moment had scarred it. It had enjoyed the attention from the Constitution, but it needed time to think about its feelings. It stayed away from the document.
