I used to hate my middle name,
until the first time I heard you say it.
It slipped out from behind your lips
like a leaf caught in a gentle Fall breeze.
It seemed to fit perfectly right between
my first name and three other words
I’ll never say to you again.
It lived inside your mouth,
(I guess I did too)
and it (I) never felt safer anywhere else.
And when I lost you I hated it for a while.
I hated when I heard people say it,
because those parts of me only belonged to you
for such a long time.
But now I’m okay.
Because it’s a part of me,
and I think you always will be too,
even though my names not yours to keep
anymore.