Words are so important to me. The individual letters carved into the darkness in bold white calibri font. Stark as a logo for the image they embody. The image that couldn’t exist without them. That will float, disappear, as the words grow and part like wax over my iffy brain.

The letters, the words, the pictures they borrow.

He said anything. Anything, you see. He would grant it upon me if I shall only ask, and in that moment, that wretched moment I felt the moving plates of the earth crush to a lonely still, the air strung with bated breath, poignant, waiting as if for my move. But I couldn’t move, not at all. 

The words danced behind my eyes; his eyes on me, the letters etched upon their muddy selves.


A promise, a secret between us. No space, no time…the universe nothing but a speck humbled by his cavalier, thought-over-all-day words.

This was the moment. The moment that was to never come, would never come again. And I froze. Dumbfounded even. Hardly breathing over the perfect response. What does one say in such circumstances?

Do you babble? Or coyly reply with a reckless shrug? 

What of a joke? I have dozens of those, always squared away somewhere. Pull one out when emotions fail.

Or the truth? The God honest truth of what I really thought. 

Of his sunshine smile and light eyes. Of his rolled sleeves that drove me wild.

What of his words then, said with head bent, whispered into his desk. Hush breaths meant only for my heart, if it would only accept.

And it does!

But words, words they fail me. And all too soon the moment is gone.



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