Words

It's always raining words in here.

The words fall continuously, and each drop of letters reaches the ground. Some twirl gracefully as they fall from the dark sky and stack into a pile as they hit the land. 

Some words lie peacefully, like sleeping toddlers overhead, on the roofs of houses, and top floors of buildings. 

The words scatter everywhere, from the most isolated spaces to the most crowded area of the town. 

Each drop holds a profound meaning, each word wanting to be joined with the other fallen words to construct a sentence and create a message.

Each word waits to be expressed. They wait until someone picks them up.

But they keep on waiting. They wait and wait.

Some do not make sense of them until people decide to throw them away. They do not understand what the words are for. 

But some people need the words for a living, teaching, and commanding. They need words and use those for their function, but they would throw them afterward when their jobs are done. 

The teachers would collect them and put the words into the trash bin when the bell rang, and the students got up from their seats. 

People would pick up some words without choosing them well. Some words they choose usually convey ridicule and mockery, leading to misunderstanding and chaos. 

Some are against using words because of these circumstances because they feel that the words would not do them any good.

An old couple sits on a bench in an outlying park. The old man gazes at his wife of fifty-four years, falling deeper in love with her as each day passes. He looks at her hair which grows platinum as she ages; he loves the color of those strands as they strangely represent wisdom, and the pureness of its shade is just a beautiful sight for him. 

The old woman gazes at her husband of fifty-four years. She wonders if her husband thinks she looks ugly with her white hair and wrinkles. She would look at the mirror and would hate her reflection. 

She feels like her husband is falling out of love with her, she thinks that her husband has lost his interest in her, and she knows that her husband finds beauty in those women of youth. She would hear him talk about beautiful young women, and every time she heard his words, she felt like the fifty-four years spent together were just a matter of a few days. 

She wants him to call her beautiful, but she never hears that word. She peeks at her hand, rubbing off the rust from the old silver ring and trying to slide it off her finger.

'Hey, Jane', the letter reads. Dalton heaves a sigh after he writes the first two words. He's been in love with Jane since they were in pre-school, and yet he can't seem to confess his feelings for her. He would stare at her from afar, mesmerized by her beauty and allured by her charm. 

He waits for the raining words daily, searching for the right words to touch Jane's heart. He loves her, and he wants to ask her for the prom. He continues to write, in the letter, where he reveals to her his secret admiration. He uses the most moving words that he can find. 

When he finally finishes writing, he seals it into an envelope and stands up from his seat. He walks into the locker area, knowing that Jane will be there in a few minutes, and he would take that as a chance to hand her the letter. 

He takes a deep breath, and negative thoughts flood his mind: the idea of rejection makes him afraid. Thinking about this, he crumples the letter in his palm, tearing the words out of the paper.