Did you know that there are over 170,000 words in the English language? 47,000 of them are deemed obsolete.
I guess it can be weird, knowing that there's an abundance of words so ready to be used, said, relinquished into the ears (or heart) of someone else. But you don't say them, you don't speak them, and so you don't give them life. They are forever nailed into an airtight coffin. And, oh Lord, it makes every breath harder to breathe and every little sliver of beautiful memory burn deeper into your skin.
One day, you realize that those words died when your chance with them passed away like the northward wind.
"You should have said something."
"I wanted to, but what would have changed?"
"Everything."
Everything. Every single thing. Would have changed. For you. For me.
For us.
He kneels down by his bed that night and clasps his palms together, hoping and praying someone would hear his heart withering away each day he lives without waking up with her. Because he's not really living, he's 'getting by'.
He gets up rather sluggishly, turns the sheets over, and slides right on through. No other sound is made except for the tired sigh he breathes out into the dark air.
She's gone, Anthony. She's not here. You were too late. The opportunity is gone. The chance for the two of you to reconnect has vanished.
His phone dings with a text from Anonymous. He sits up and looks at the name (what an odd name for a contact) and rubs the back of his neck. He takes a solid gulp before sliding to read the message.
With what was written out, he nearly loses his breath:
-If you were given a chance of a lifetime, would you promise to take it?
"What," he blurts out, confused and for a second he wonders if this guy or girl has the wrong number. But, all of his doubt disappears with the second text:
-Anthony, I am speaking to you.
He wants to type back and inquire as to who this person was. He doesn't, he answers the question:
-I would.
-Good.
He blinks a couple times, rubbing his eyes, hoping to still see this unusual conversation when he reopens. He does.
-What is this about?
Immediate response. Is this supposed to be scary to him? He's not scared and this isn't the type of conversation leading up to a prank.
-This is what you wish for.
And there it is, a ball of emotion rolling up into his chest cavity. The right eye stings for a moment so he wipes at it to notice the moisture residing on his thumb.
-I wish for?
To undo what has been done. To redo a chance. An opportunity. Is this what you wish for?
Oh my God.
A simple answer to a simple question.
-Yes.
There are over 47,000 obsolete words in the English language. One will never be seen as useless or obsolete or even replaceable.
She's not replaceable.
She's not useless.
She is not obsolete.
She is in his arms, saying goodbye to him before she heads off to the Mediterranean to bury her father.
At Lo Levad, he tells her while she braces herself for a sudden breakdown. His embrace steadies while their locked eyes are like solid ground for the floating unsurity in the atmosphere.
Before she turns to walk away, an expectant shiver runs down his spine.
Something screams at him and he can't control his tongue, "Wait!"
"Yes, Tony?" Her smile is sad but expectant.
"You ever get a déjà vu?" Her furrowed brows and no answer makes him continue. Forces him to continue. "I feel…" he begins, a break in his voice is noticed. "I feel like I need to tell you something."
She walks a step closer, cocking her head to side, patiently waiting. Like she has all the time in the world.
"What do you need to tell me?"
He swallows the masculinity guiding his persona to once in his lifetime bare his heart for her. It is all for her.
"I need to tell you how much… I can't stand when you are away. I need to let you know that this world makes you crazy, and sometimes it's unbearable. Ziva, but you walk right on through. You shouldn't be afraid to let the world know who you are because of some engrained expectations you learned were okay to live by. You are you. God, to see you look like this it's hurting me and it's killing me because…."
Her eyes drift to his chest then to the ground then back to his eyes. She moves closer to him, hoping to tether onto him like a gravitational pull.
He continues, wiping away a water droplet from her bottom eyelid. She leans into the touch.
"Because I can't do anything about it."
She smiles shyly, "You are here, seeing me off. That is something."
"It's not enough."
Both of their hearts are fluttering. "When will I have an opportunity like this, to tell you how I feel and hope to God you feel maybe the same way? We get distracted in our work, waiting for the next case and never ever focus on ourselves or what we need… The point is, I need you. I need you to know that I worry about you, think about you, and …," he sighs.
Her head softly leans into his chest, feeling her partner's heartbeat to the rhythm of her yearning. His hand finds a lock of her hair and he plays with it for a moment. His face grows serious and he says a word that could not be replaced.
"Ziva, I can't let you get on that plane without you knowing how much I love you."
Her head tilts to look back onto her symbol of strength and hope. Boy, does he look handsome. His head tilts down, and he has never seen her look more beautiful.
She leans into the touch of his palm and fingers gracing her neck, still keeping her grounded from floating off into unknown space, where he's not there and they're not together.
Suddenly, she can't think of a world without him. This is her chance.
"Tony, I love you."
Their lips touch and the both of them know this was the opportunity they had both been looking for.