My wandering through Tumblr led me to a post called, six word story #49:
The saddest word in English, “Stay”.
I was arrested by the phrase, and I can surely attest, it is quite possibly the saddest word I know.
The very nature of its utterance involves a desperation nobody wants to experience, but everybody understands.
A power dynamic intensely wrapped around four little letters, spiraling out of control the second it slips into the air.
An attempt to mend and fix the little slivers of space that have widened hairbreadth by hair breadth into gaping black rivers.
It is a word I choose not to use very often, if at all.
Perhaps a choice blossoming from little vines of pride growing on the walls of my self.
Snaking lines of green that nestle within cracks, residue of barrages from the past, left as reminders of what a person can do.
The echo of an unanswered “Stay” still bounces around within these walls, waiting to be forgotten so it can be released. And maybe in every human being, there is a quiet echo like mine. A different word, a different language, a different time, but a quiet echo just the same.
Another equalizer reminding us we are all alone, alone together.
Sad is only half of it though.
It is also quite possibly one of the most beautiful ones in English I know.
The nature of its utterance made possible only by a heart willing to break through false entitlement to ask for strength.
A power dynamic that recognizes the true depths of loss and submits to a recognition of another person’s importance.
An attempt to mend and fix the slivers of space with time, by filling them in with courage-flecked gold.
It is a word I want to slip between my teeth and roll around my tongue before gently sending off again.
Not because I am left with no other choice, but because I have chosen something greater.
Because the truth is, the only one entitled was willing to follow me all the way into my own hell and call out, “Stay with me.”
And for that truth alone,