There is a story that has no words, a book without pages.
There is a place where it can be told, read. But it is not here, and it is not now.
There is a song that has no sound. So sweet that it can bring the warrior to tears.
There is a place where it can be sung, heard. But it is not here, and it is not now.
I saw you sitting in the garden behind our favorite church and the bells began to ring. It reminded me of that place and that time. You reminded me. You sitting in that place that has been Holy for countless millennia, and through all time and dynastic dreams.
A single leaf fell from the branch above your head, displaced by a single sparrow. It floated with the gentle breeze on the scented air gently, slowly until it crowned your head. And you didn't even see it, or know it. But it was there, perfectly placed.
I approached the gate to the garden. You looked up and saw me.
It was then that I first heard the song that had no sound.
It was then that you told me the story that had no words.