He loved her more than words could say, but he could not find the right ones to say it. He wanted to write her a letter that would capture his feelings, that would make her heart flutter, that would show her how much he cared. He spent hours in the attic, surrounded by books and papers, searching for inspiration. He tried to imitate the great poets and writers, but their words seemed hollow and empty. He tried to invent his own words, but they sounded clumsy and awkward. He tried to be honest and simple, but he felt he was not doing justice to his love.
He grew frustrated and desperate. He felt time was running out. He knew she was waiting for him, but he did not know how to reach her. He feared she would lose interest, or worse, find someone else. He wanted to tell her everything, but he could not say anything. He felt trapped in his own silence.
He died in the attic, with his pen in hand, held above his writing paper.