"There were just words"

There were just words; they had no real meaning. Just a random assortment of sounds and utterances, like the scattering of stardust that follows the death of a sun. But to him they were everything. They defined the very reality in which he stood. They held him together, sealing the seams of his mind and buttressing his will and conation. He would have been lost, would have been nothing, without words, without his words. And there was nothing more in the world that he desired than to bestow them to another, as a gift parcelled by his trembling hands with the entirety of his love.