And he says my name as if it’s something hard to say and yet familiar.
As if it’s a well worn name. As if I am the most tolerable and acceptable thing in his life.
For if life is thrusting things in his face, this name he can say and not shrink back from.
I don’t know how that makes me feel.
I don’t want to be some fairytale that is dreamed about and cherished. I don’t think real love is like that.
But sometimes I wish you’d look at me like you might lose me, that you could never imagine the pain of losing me.
Sometimes I wish you’d say my name like me being here in front of you made your day.
Just hearing your name used to make my hair stand on end.
