Four little words.

A number I’ve long held as fortuitous.

Unsuspecting pairs woven together by chance.

Once the number inscribed on my catcher’s jersey. Later something I’d count off the letters to words in pairs while walking or waiting, counting passing street signs, cracks in the sidewalk. Grouping them together into 1,2,3 4 to study their similar qualities.

A number I’d continue to choose to carry with me like a talisman divinely given at birth. Four directions. Four elements. Four lines creating a container. Four leaves on a clover. 

And now a question posed by easy and tender you that honors this passionate union of we. 

You. Me. Gathered together by this ancient river, swimming these currents as they ebb and flow. 

I do. Again and again, my love.