But when I said it aloud — fuh-FAY-oh — the streetlight outside flickered. The cat turned its head too fast. And for one second, the rain fell upward.
Maybe some things don’t need meaning. They just need to be spoken once, into the right dark, at the right wrong time.
It arrived without context — scrawled on a sticky note, left in an old library book, whispered in a dream. Ffaio. No vowels to soften it. Just the hard double-f, the quiet a, the i, the o.
Ffaio. If you can clarify what you intended, I’ll gladly write a more accurate piece for you.