Two is my favorite word. Two, to, too, too. Two divided in each hand as one. The tongue halfway on the roof of the mouth on the too, the tah, the two, the to somewhere, the too too and two fingers symbolizing peace, pointer and middle scissors cutting in two halves and halves together is a whole and whole can be severed in two broken hearts: two souls shattered to pieces, to glass that injures and bleeds two by two, by two drops falling into the mouth that sings too, trilling the vocal chords two by two, by two, plucking the soul strings so that two came to, too.
What is it about two? Two things, two hearts, two souls, two bodies, one to each and to each one too, and matters to, that the two can come together as one whole but can be severed in two again, broken too by two by two by two.
I love the word two, the woo silent, the tee resilient cutting the tongue, the middle caressing the half, halfway meeting the lines inside the opening of a sentence that can drain into the throat two by two, swallowed and nourished for the purpose, just to. Two, too, to we go, hand in hand, one by one, two together or apart but always two.
“two is my favorite word too” you say. I smile, two lips, two eyes, two ears that eager at every syllable that makes their way out of your lips, and I admire those two eyes, two ears, those lips that pucker to say, “two”.