Do you know that, I used to tell people my name consists of only two words?
First, and last.
But you came. And I gladly told you every name people call me, every name I go by, every name of mine I prefer to be called by. My name.
First, middle, and last.
That I used to be secretive of when there’s an ice breaking session, when it’s time to introduce myself to new people.
Who would’ve thought one day I’d be thrilled about a name of mine? Surely not me.
But you came. And made me finally adore it.
A name I never tried giving a deep thought about.
Its spelling, its meaning, who came up with it.
Do you know that, I went around finally feeling
fine in telling people my full name when you came?
Do you know that, after you…. I have stopped doing so?
Now, hearing it being called stings a little sometimes.
Do you know that, I would still turn around if someone middle-names me, and I recognise it’s your voice?
Only if it’s you.
Do you know that, I am trying so hard every single day to remember what you looked like, to remember what you sounded like, to remember how you did you?
But I still remember vividly how you liked my middle name, and I loved being called that by just you.
Now, when people middle-name me, I get furious sometimes. Because it stings a little. Very little. Stings, still.
Do you notice that, I stopped telling people I have a middle name?
I am living a life on first name basis, again.
And somehow, I was hoping you’d come back and make me fall in love again.
With you, with life, with my middle name.
I was hoping you’d come back and remind me that I have a middle name.
