Single word

A single word tonight, from either of us, could have changed everything.

But I think we’re both just so afraid of that single word that we just don’t know how/when/if to utter it.

Just a single, simple word.

Stay.

I wanted to hear that word, even though everything else was screaming it. I wanted to hear it from your lips, to see it in your eyes.

Stay.

Just that simple word.

You, over there, sleepy, beautiful, and, for a very brief second, vulnerable in a way I have never seen you be.

Me, over here, tentatively placing my hand on your leg, you not pulling away. My hand resting there, your eyes closed. The closest we’ve been. The closest we’ve let ourselves be.

I just wanted to hear that one word.

Stay.

And I guess you were saying it by just letting me be there, letting me connect, letting me in for just a single moment.

And I didn’t hear it. Until it was too late. Until I broke the silence and brought us back to where we were.

I heard that simple word just as I opened my mouth and took it all away. Screamed in my head to just shut up so I could hear that word that was hanging out there, unspoken but said.

And I wanted to just take it back, to go back to just being there with you, the simplicity of my hand on your calf, your eyes closed, the quiet of the room. That moment of time, just suspended, just hanging there.

But it was gone.

And I still hoped you would say that simple word. Even as I walked away, I wanted to hear it. I wanted my phone to ring and to hear you say, come back, stay.

But I guess we’re not there yet. And I guess we’re both afraid to say that simple word.

Stay?

Stay.

Because it is not so simple. It would change everything. It would mean everything.

And maybe we’re just not ready for that.

Not yet, anyway.