It means nothing.
Five letters shouldn't be different than six.
Why is it then?
At three a.m.,
When I'm screaming into my pillow,
Crying,
Wishing the demons would leave,
Five letters are better than six.
Five letters help,
Not the person attached.
The person attached isn't there.
He is at home sleeping,
Dreaming of something else.
But his five letters are there to float around my ears.
The six letters linger from before,
But five feel safer.
Maybe the man attached to the six loves me more,
Maybe not,
But I want five.
If the name is enough,
That must mean something.