Every Word You Cannot Say

by Iain S. Thomas

I don’t know your name. But I do know that it was beautiful to your mother and that the first time she said it, and decided it was yours, she smiled. I know she said it several times after that, like the words to a beautiful song only she knew. She tried it on like a beautiful summer day.

A story does not stop being a story when you turn the page.

Because the world needs an infinite heart, like yours. Or just a place where everyone fits.

—there is a temple in our hands when we hold them together.