The rain fell on the cobblestones. It was cold. It was wet. We walked. I carried the box. It was heavy.

Eleanor walked beside me. She did not look at me. She looked at the mud. Her boots were new. They were brown. They were soft.

"Put it down," she said.

"I cannot."

"Why?"

"Because it is mine."

"It is not yours. It is his."

She pointed. She pointed to the ground. There was a stain. It was dark. It was old.

I stopped. I set the box down. The box was wood. It was old. It had no lock. It had no key.

"What is in it?" she asked.

"I do not know."

"You are lying."

"I am not lying. I do not know."

She laughed. It was a short sound. It was hard. "You have carried it for a year. You do not know what is inside?"

"No."

"Then why carry it?"

"Because I must."

We stood in the square. People walked past. They did not look at us. They looked at the sky. The sky was gray. The sky was low.

"Who is he?" I asked.

Eleanor turned to me. Her eyes were dry. They were bright. "You know who he is."

"I do not."

"Do not play the fool."

"I am not playing. I am asking."

"You know." She stepped closer. The rain touched her hair. It made her hair dark. It made her hair slick. "You know why you carry the box."

I looked at the box. The wood was wet. It swelled. The seams tightened. I felt a pull. It was in my hands. It was in my arms. It was in my chest.

"I was a merchant," I said.

"Yes."

"I traded in spices."

"Yes."

"I traded in silks."

"Yes."

"And then I traded in ghosts."

She did not answer. She looked away. She looked at the street. The street was empty. The street was long.

"We must go," she said.

"Where?"

"North."

"Why?"

"Because the road ends there."

"The road does not end. The road continues."

"No. This road ends."

I picked up the box. The weight was familiar. The weight was cold. We walked. We walked fast. The rain grew heavy. The rain grew hard.

We reached the bridge. The bridge was stone. The bridge was old. The water below was black. The water moved slow.

"Stop," I said.

"Move," she said.

"I cannot move."

"You must move."

"Why?"

"Because you promised."

"I did not promise."

"You did. You swore on your father's grave."

"I did not swear."

"You did."

My hands shook. The box shook. The box made a sound. It was a low sound. It was a hum.

"Let me go," I whispered.

"Never."

"Let me go."

"Never."

I looked at her. Her face was pale. Her lips were blue. She was cold. She was afraid.

"I love you," I said.

"I know."

"Let me go."

"I cannot."

"Why?"

"Because if you go, you die."

"I am already dead."

"No. You are alive. You are breathing. You are here."

I looked at the water. The water was still. The water was deep. I saw my face. I saw the box. I saw the box sinking.

"I will not let you drown," she said.

"I will not drown."

"You will."

"I will not."

We stood on the bridge. The rain stopped. The air was still. The air was thick.

"Open it," she said.

"No."

"Open it."

"I will not."

"You must."

"I will not."

She reached for the box. Her hands were small. Her hands were white. She pulled the lid. The lid stuck. The lid creaked.

I pushed her hand away. "Do not."

"Why?"

"Because it will change."

"It is already changed."

She pulled the lid open. The box was empty.

It was truly empty. There was no ghost. There was no bone. There was no dust. There was only air. There was only space.

I stared. I stared into the void. The void stared back.

"What is it?" she asked.

"It is nothing."

"It is a lie."

"It is a truth."

She dropped the lid. The lid fell. The lid made a sound. It was a sharp sound. It was a final sound.

We walked on. We walked off the bridge. We walked into the woods. The woods were dark. The woods were deep.

The trees were tall. The trees were bare. The branches reached up. The branches reached out.

I carried the empty box. It was lighter now. It was almost weightless. It was a shell. It was a husk.

Eleanor walked ahead. She did not look back. She did not speak. She did not breathe loud.

I followed. My feet were tired. My legs were weak. My mind was clear. My mind was blank.

We reached a clearing. The clearing was round. The clearing was flat. The grass was short. The grass was dry.

In the center of the clearing was a tree. The tree was large. The tree was old. The tree was white.

It was a birch. The bark peeled. The bark curled. The bark fell.

"Here," Eleanor said.

She stopped. She turned. She looked at me. Her eyes were wet. Her eyes were soft.

"Put it down," she said.

"I will."

"Break it."

"I will."

"Burn it."

"I will."

I set the box on the grass. The grass was cold. The grass was damp. I looked at the box. I looked at the tree.

I raised my foot. I raised my foot high. I brought it down. The wood cracked. The wood splintered. The box broke.

The pieces flew. The pieces landed. The pieces scattered.

I picked up a piece. It was small. It was sharp. It cut my hand. The blood was red. The blood was warm.

I dropped the piece. I picked up another. I dropped it. I picked up another. I dropped it.

Eleanor watched. She did not move. She did not blink.

I looked at the tree. The tree stood. The tree waited. The tree watched.

"I am tired," I said.

"I know," she said.

"I am done."

"I know."

I walked to the tree. I put my hand on the bark. The bark was smooth. The bark was cold. The bark was hard.

I leaned against the tree. I closed my eyes. I felt the tree. I felt the roots. I felt the soil.

Eleanor came to me. She stood behind me. She put her arm around my waist. She held me. She held me tight.

We stood there. We stood still. The wind blew. The wind was soft. The wind was cold.

The box was broken. The ghost was gone. The weight was gone. The fear was gone.

Only the tree remained. Only the cold remained. Only the love remained.

It was a heavy love. It was a dark love. It was a true love.

We did not speak. We did not need to speak. The silence was full. The silence was loud. The silence was enough.

The sun rose. The sun was pale. The sun was thin. The sun touched the tree. The sun touched us.

I opened my eyes. I saw the leaves. The leaves were green. The leaves were new. The leaves were alive.

I looked at Eleanor. Her face was calm. Her face was old. Her face was kind.

"Let us go," she said.

"Where?"

"Home."

"Is there a home?"

"Yes. Here. With the tree. With the rain. With the silence."

I nodded. I took her hand. Her hand was warm. Her hand was soft.

We walked. We walked slowly. We walked together. The box was gone. The ghost was gone. The past was gone.

Only the future remained. The future was blank. The future was open. The future was ours.

We walked into the light. We walked into the mist. We walked into the life.

The tree stood behind us. The tree waited. The tree remembered.

But we did not look back. We did not need to look back.

We were free. We were lost. We were found.

The end was the beginning. The beginning was the end. The circle was closed. The circle was open.

I held her hand. I held it tight. I held it forever.

The rain began again. The rain was soft. The rain was gentle. The rain washed the dust. The rain washed the blood. The rain washed the soul.

We were clean. We were pure. We were free.

The tree stood. The tree watched. The tree wept.

But we did not see the tears. We did not hear the weeping. We only felt the rain. We only felt each other.

We walked on. We walked on. We walked on.