I was so used to saying it
Over and over again, until it seemed like my lips were permanently stained from the constant utterance of your name.
Was preceded by the word ‘love’, and the word ‘love’ was preceded by the word ‘I’. But my name, was never said in that order.
Some time passes and I learnt a new name. The first time I uttered this new name. I paused. It didn’t fit right on my tongue. It didn’t sit right in my throat. It didn’t feel right.
I said it again.
I said it again and again until I felt it. The barrier cracked and crumbled like sandstone. This foreign form of forming my tongue to produce this new name is not longer foreign.
Your name is now the stain on my lips, and the name before that is a stain in the darkest, unappreciated part of my mind.