Sharanya

In the dimly lit room, his eyes strain to see the small words. They keep coming, ink to paper. He cannot stop himself. With each new word, and unspeakable thought, he finds his salvation. The pen understands. She knows. She lets him cry, tears pouring through her. Hours pass. His eyes are narrow slits, the light unforgiving. Black tears continue to fall, ceaselessly forming words onto the parchment that is his heart.