Three Little Letters

The night had been great until that moment. Not great — perfect. It was the perfect setting with the perfect company and air so crisply cool that for a moment life turned superconductive. Then there you were, waltzing upstairs, lost in the superconductivity of life because you live in the moment, which is more than most of us could ask for. You were unsuspecting but as beautiful as ever, so much so that night itself ceased the breeze as you took its breath away. You took my breath away.

Some know, most don’t, but you and I know that none could ever know what you and I know—that no matter how many times we told and retold and tell and retell the tale, each pass lacks the depth, the hue, the texture, the mood, and the score that made it the worst and the best and the saddest and the happiest and the coldest and the hottest and the dimmest and the brightest time of our lives — a story between us that flashed before us and descended upon us to light up inside us the moment our eyes met, the moment nighttime sighed.

Then you walked by and said, ‘hey’. A nod was all I could muster.

Just one word — one measly, little word — so paltry and meager I’m not sure it’s a word but a reflex of the human voice in moments that surprise us. Still, that measly, little word dances in my mind like the dandelions that floated gently around us, so delicate and pure, on the warm, spring day we learned what life should taste like. The world stopped spinning then, so we spun in its place like the dandelions that floated gently around us, so lost and naïve, on the warm, spring day reminding me what life should taste like.

Just one word — three lousy, little letters — two of which belong to the other three letters that haunt me all the same. I spoke those, but you spoke these, and it all sounds so perfectly poetic until you realize the letters aren’t the same, no, they’re off by one, so what should be perfect no longer is because of one stubborn, little letter. Little letters should mean nothing, yet here they mean everything, for they sit at the intersection of Past, Present, and Future, and like Triple Word Score in a game of Scrabble these stubborn, little letters become game-changing, life-altering, earth-shattering moments.

Then I remember those three little letters could have never been so little if they were to the one who stole your superconductivity. For each little letter came so dense full of history they grew into black holes falling from your mouth onto the floor of that rooftop bar, where they landed and bent spacetime itself, tightening our strings until they snapped apart forever.

It was then I knew. It was then you knew. It was just one word — three little letters. They should have been nothing. In fact, they were everything.