What Would I Write?

He stood there looking out into the field. Feelings flowed from the wounds in his mind and from his eyes dripped words that didn’t explain how he felt. He stood there, in the field, and remembered what it was like to be with someone strong enough to break his silence. He stood there and imagined the faces of all the people who told him he could be great, but all we said cut only skin-deep and the puddle of desperate muttering beneath his feet grew larger when he heard us. For a moment he screamed and in the next moment he drowned. I walked over and picked him up with an empty sheet of paper.