An Infinite Language Missing One Word

A unit of language, a capsule of meaning, a building block. Spoken, written, or signed, words communicate, convey and connect. They can be precise or mere approximations, something we understand immediately, or overanalyze. Sometimes we escape them and sometimes they escape us, we come up against a gap, a silence, a pause, a palpable absence. But this is not a story about words, it’s a story about the words between us. 

We met like so many people meet today. A swipe, a match, a text. An invitation to get drinks the next day. If you’d seen us on that first date, you would have betted against us making it to a second date. You would have witnessed a stop-and-start conversation in a language he was beginning to learn and a slow speed I struggled to stick to. 

Words may have failed us but there was something there. Unworded but undeniably alive, eager to grow, waiting to ignite and become. Drinks led to dinner, dinner led to dessert, dessert led to a dance without music in a deserted Plaza de Sol. A first kiss. A second and a tenth, a proposal to go back to his place. I smiled but hesitated. I almost took him up on his offer, but I walked away. 

Later, we would wonder what would have happened if we hadn’t said goodbye that night. As if somehow, saying this is not a one-night stand was what opened up the question of what we could be. Did you get home okay? Yes, I did. I would have walked with you. No worries! I had a great time. I did too, thanks for tonight. Here’s my number if you want to keep talking. Smiling emoji, I’ll add you now. 

Sweet texts. A second date. A third. An inevitable goodbye as I headed to the other side of the world. That could have been the end of it, but it was only the beginning. Not a full stop as you might expect, a well-intentioned farewell text, followed by another, and another, and another. Buen viaje, have a good flight! It was nice to meet you. How did you land? How is the jet lag? Are you happy to be back? And so the conversation continued with more and more words between us. 

Tiny units of language, careful capsules of meaning, busy building blocks. Texts and voice notes and calls. In Spanish, English, and a mix of both. Translations that hit the mark, and translations that missed it. 

We woke up to each other’s messages, we fell asleep to them too. Days measured in words more than hours. Weeks measured in all the little things we learned about each other. What are you doing? How was your day? It’s sunny. It’s cloudy. It’s early. It’s late. You’ll hate me in the morning. I won’t hate you I promise. I’m bored. I’m tired. I’m happy. I’m upset. Tell me something. Tell me a story. Tell me a favorite memory. 

Are we girlfriend and boyfriend? What does that even mean long-distance after three dates? I like getting to know you. Okay, let’s be friends. Yes. Friends. What a word. We try it on, how does it sound? How does it taste? Too soon it feels like a caress. A blanket we kicked off in the middle of the night when it’s too hot and it doesn’t feel right. We try other words. Hola guapa. You make me smile. You look hot. I’m having a day, can we talk for a while? I like talking to you, I like it a lot. I had a dream about you. Wish you were here. Me too.

60 sweet dreams later, 2 misunderstandings that became inside jokes, more than 180 questions, 240 voice notes, and infinite anecdotes, and we were in the same city. Suddenly, words had a different weight and texture. 

Tiny units of language, careful capsules of meaning, busy building blocks competed to communicate with smiles and raised eyebrows, pouts, and stuck-out tongues. 

Our conversations no longer stopped and started, they had their own rhythm and their own language. They had their inside jokes and shared silences. I wanted to take it slow, but we saw each other every day. A dinner, a lunch, a coffee date. A walk, a nap, chocolate almonds on park steps. Kisses like a crescendo. Hands held on the streets and over dinner tables. 

Words shared over meals, and between pillows, and a steady stream of texts in a now shared timezone. How’s your meeting? Are you working from the cafe? When are you coming home? I bought the ice cream you liked. I’ll be home in an hour. Words scribbled on post-its pasted all over the apartment. “Welcome home guapo” on the door. “You’re hotter than anything I can cook in this kitchen” read the note on the counter. “Rainy days are so romantic” a bright square against a drizzled window. “This couch misses your mimos” clung to the sofa cushions. “I have ideas… meet me here later” suggestive message on the bedframe. Words sang loudly and out of key on a road trip, read off maps as we found our way in a new city, and on menus we perused to try out local cuisine. Cheers sounding over clinking glasses. Jokes and compliments over the photos we took, look how happy we look. 

Real words and made-up words and unsaid words. An infinite language all of our own, lacking but one word. We felt it but never said it. It was a word that existed between us, but it existed outside of the letters and sounds that defined and encompassed it. I don’t know why we turned to approximations and poor translations. Maybe we saw the incompatibility of our worlds and worried it was always going to hurt. Maybe that's why we didn’t dare, maybe we were too scared. Maybe we thought that if we didn’t say it, if we didn’t name it or label it, we could somehow sail past it. 

A footprint we ignored, an echo we pretended not to hear, a blank space we filled with little gestures, thoughtful gifts, tender looks, and couch cuddles.

Unspoken, unwritten, unsigned… the word became a vacuum. It pulled and you pushed against it. You voiced all your doubts to the void. You stacked them up like a wall. You hid it deep in a maze of maybes and what-ifs until... you couldn’t find it. 

Two weeks to acknowledge it. "I think we need to break up". Harsh words with no preambles. Sentences that were hard to swallow. From the kitchen to the couch, a conversation that required sitting down. Clumsy words, sharp punctuation, not a discussion but a fact. Good intentions don’t save sad endings, still, we picked our words carefully. A sleepless night driving down memory lane, pointing out postcards of us, asking questions, sharing confessions. More whispered words in our endearing attempts to end on good terms.

Even knowing what I know now, I wish I’d said it. Our infinite language is forever incomplete. Lesson learned: some words should not remain unsaid. When you leave the house, grab the keys, say it out loud. When they mispronounce the word they never get quite right, laugh and tell them, say it out loud. When they’re overthinking so loud you can hear their mind whirring from across the room, make them a cup of tea, and say it. Before going to sleep, turn off the light, and say it out loud.