You texted me a message last night. It was written during a moment of joyful forgiveness, while sitting in a train & listening to some favorite Mozart on your bright yellow ipod. The Jupiter symphony, i guess. Final movement. Big string chords. Loud metal wheels.
At the time, the plan was to meet an old girlfriend & to catch the week’s big movie. A hunk was starring, which would have made you both smile indelicately. The future was uncertain. If the night remained young & the pleasure led you both, you would have had a fast dance & a long drink at one of the city’s many nightclubs – a happy ending to a tense & often unfortunate week.
This is why you sent the message; which read, simply, beautifully: I love you.
It wasn’t received. I’m not sure why. If it had been, the three of us might still be alive.
An experiment in flash fiction