I rescued a word like an injured bird. In my hand, he could barely breathe. Afraid of killing him, I released him in the air, but the fledgling didn’t want to leave.
“Go,” I said “your life with me would only be cage and fence.”
“Reach the sky and meet God. He is high and immense.
Here with me, it will only be fear of tomorrow.”
The birdy hesitated to leave, scared to let me die.
He was the last one to stay on the page, in the cage. All the words were gone.
In fact, he was the word “Pity.”