His word, the word I was given, the last one to be written.
So short, yet so strong. Three small letters, forming a word. A positive word, but for me it sounded sad.
It was so little, surrounded by white. Not one of the letters were bigger then the other, no one prouder then its brother and sisters. So short.
After I saw it, silence. After I read it, silence. The word was positive, yet it made me worried. I wanted to call, hear the word being told, being said out loud, becoming your voice. Now, only my eyes had been listening, and they said to me “we’re sorry, we can not do what your ears can do. We can only tell you what the word means, but only your ears can listen to the feeling carrying it”. They held me, and whispered among my thoughts “don’t worry, it was a positive word. He is ok”
Your word, the word you gave me, the last one to be read. So short, so small. The word written among white, nothing more nothing less. A lost and forgotten holiness, your message saying “yes”.