The "I" at the end is the loneliest letter in the alphabet. It stands for the individual who survives the "we." It stands for the index finger pointing at a spot on a worn-out map that no one else can see. And it stands for the Roman numeral one—the first and perhaps only volume of a history written in vanishing ink.
The first time you held hands under a table at a family dinner. The argument that ended in laughter behind a supermarket dumpster. The five minutes of perfect silence sitting on a curb at 3 AM. Todos los lugares que mantuvimos en secreto - I...
The "I" at the end of this phrase is a loaded syllable. It could be the first chapter of a longer confession. It could be the singular voice of a narrator looking back at a lost love. Or it could be the Roman numeral for "one," suggesting that this is merely the first volume of a much larger archive of silence. The "I" at the end is the loneliest letter in the alphabet
"Todos los lugares que mantuvimos en secreto" — All the places we kept secret. The first time you held hands under a