A signage of the steakhouse that just started up down the road - the old man pat his son on the back and smiled at their newly painted shop name. Shelves with hundreds of books that line their rosewood edges. There's a quote that says “Fairy tales are more than true: not because they tell us that dragons exist, but because they tell us that dragons can be beaten.” It's carved on its side, like how cavemen used to carve on the walls of their homes - a mosaic of strategies and stories, boy was there a lot to be told. Letters, lots of them - posted days and weeks and months ago. They were strewn across the lawn of the house whose mailbox was far too small - the mailbox that read "Katie & Jeff's" in dark brown letters against its chipped blue planks. Diaries - jotting down the times when Dan tried to cut off my pigtails in class, when i finally learned how to ride a bike, when i lost my first tooth and my first love, when my feelings took a turn for the better and the worse. Compositions - its paper grey from the excessive erasing of penciled tunes, smudged from the blood sweat and tears put into the creation of something people might call a Masterpiece. Marriage papers, signed as traditionally as it gets, pen against paper, black ink - with its curves and edges, splotches and trails. Divorce papers - all the same. The final message of ours that is left on stone for all to see, and we always see words that read "fondly remembered" or "always with us" and yes, they are cliché but also nothing but the truth.
There is just something about writing - penning things down to its minute details and perfect imperfections, that feels like commitment. And once you've written it down, it stays with you no matter how much you try to erase it because it's as though you've double (or even triple) confirmed things before making yourself that promise.