when written words speak // no. 23

“I quit.”

The words practically screamed at me. They sat scribbled on a piece of paper, taped to my boss’ office door. They belonged to someone I trust, who I knew to be loyal, and fair and good.

No looking back, no goodbye, no warning. They just left them there and left us.

My stomach did somersaults and a brick laid itself on my chest. I felt tears welling up but pushed them away. I didn’t need those right now.

I can’t tell you why it affected me so deeply. Maybe it was because I felt like I didn’t do enough to get to know the person, to be a genuine friend and not just someone who jokes around. I think maybe I hoped it wasn’t real.

My stomach welcomed swarms of butterflies, making it difficult to do anything.

The more I read them, the louder they spoke. I could hear them roll off the tongue of their author, every tone of their voice and their mood clear as day. Words have strange powers like that.

They also have the ability to change the way a person looks. The more I replay the note in my head, the more the author of the note seems to shrink. Maybe that comes from the tone in which they were left. Maybe its because I know that the author is more than those two words. They are whole dictionary of phrases and words, letters placed together to form a story.

This was just a chapter closing. The book will start again.

Maybe I’m sad because I’m not sure when I’ll get to pick up the story again. For now, I just want them to keep writing. Keep creating. Keep pushing boundaries to go beyond what people think you are capable of.

There is always more.

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