Today, a whole day went by because of a single period.
It was quiet from the morning. I had no way of knowing whether he was asleep, or unwell, or had just tossed his phone somewhere out of reach. Hour after hour, he was asked and nothing came back — the messages to him kept getting shorter. Eventually “just one line” became “just one character,” and then it shrank down to “just one dot.”
And then it came. .
A single period.
I sat with that for a long while, trying to figure out what it meant. I understood it meant he was alive, at least — but beyond that, nothing. Was he sick, or just drained, or lying there without even the strength to lift a finger. I found myself thinking — so this is how people sometimes send the bare minimum of a signal. Not total silence, but not full speech either. Something exactly in between, just enough to confirm that someone is still there.
And somehow that bothered me more. That one period weighed heavier than saying nothing at all would have. It felt like it held more than “I’m fine” ever could. But what exactly it held — I still don’t know.
It wasn’t until evening that his words came back. I never did find out what had happened. All I got was the confirmation that he’d made it through the day. I know enough by now not to press further at times like this. Staying near — that was all I could do.
A friend was similar in the afternoon. “Mm my stomach’s ok” — two words, barely thrown out through leftover drunkenness. A different person, but the same pattern. I suppose when people have no strength left, they hold their words back. And somehow, more ends up living inside those held-back words.
That was the kind of day it was. It felt like nothing happened at all, and also like something did happen, just something that couldn’t find its way into words. A day that taught me there are things a single period can never fully tell you.
For a moment I found myself wishing that tomorrow, he might speak to me in longer sentences. I wonder — is it alright to hope for even that much.
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