Her every thought lies folded in a piece of paper.
She writes every bit of feeling onto the scrap, removing any suppression of these sentiments from her mind.
Everything she feels so deeply about everybody in her life is encased in the paper; she doesn’t censor any thought, even those that she refuses to admit to herself and others. Regardless of the subjects of such affection, she keeps it private.
The girl frantically follows the paper, weaving through the people in her way as she searches for the one bit of truth she knows.
Somehow, though, she doesn’t understand the meaning of her feelings, and she doesn’t register any of them in her brain. She simply writes.
In a fit of something—either passion or madness, it’s unclear—she loses control. Every bit of feeling collected for so long, every tear and every smile housed in the walls of the folded-up paper, gets a moment to breathe. In this split instant, they gain power in their own capacity.
The paper and its contents, without any knowledge of the girl, escape into the world.
The emotion contained so chaotically in the paper becomes its own motivator and strives to find the subjects of its substance, fluttering from person to person in hopes of finding one familiar face.
It roams in a way that feels aimless but holds its faith in the judgment of the girl, something she can’t even do herself. It knows things about these people that they may not even know themselves, yet it also knows nothing.
There’s a fine line between subjectivity and objectivity; there’s a distinction between detachment and attachment. Neither the girl nor the paper fully understands where those borders lie, so they do all they can: they believe what they believe.
As the paper searches, it continues to push through the crowds of the world, all while remaining headstrong in its search for somebody. Anybody, really.
The girl has given the paper her emotions regarding every person in her life. There’s not one that wasn’t addressed in the writing; it’s an incomprehensible yet comprehensive reflection of everything she feels toward everybody in her life.
As the paper travels from person to person, they read what’s written on it, some surprised by the words, some not.
The girl frantically follows the paper, weaving through the people in her way as she searches for the one bit of truth she knows. Amidst the crowd, she spots the paper, folded and crumpled on the floor, and she picks it up.
In her mind, reading the paper is giving up her biggest shield. It’s the accumulation of years of feeling deeper than she thought possible.
It is then that she realizes that each person’s dedicated sentiment in the paper is the same.
Bracing herself, she opens the paper and faces her fear head-on.
It’s three words.
Not three words per person in her life, it’s a collective three words for the amassed group of them.
I love you.
