Is it too cliche? Is it emulating Juliet too much? Should I start over?
too much so much with a name.
J—. The smell of black coffee and overroasted beans and used filters. The always-made bed. The Lord of the Rings reading marathons. The textbooks and notebooks of organic chemistry. The faded striped polos and the khaki shorts.
J—. The revelation of red lines on thighs. The Butterfly Project. The Bracelet Project. The counseling center on campus. THe 2am panic attacks and 3am texts and 4am calls. The hour-long sobbing sessions. The blue sweatshirt that had J—‘s comforting scent. The hand-holding in the hospital.
J—. Silence. Betrayal. Cruel end.
D—-. The late-night security shifts. The blue work polo. The old black belt hanging on my closet door. The video game case. The Pokemon shirts. The cafe smoothies and sandwiches. The singing-along to pop songs. The simultaneous gaming sessions. The sweetie and em and anh.
D—-. The cuddling during rainstorms. The kisses on the forehead and cheeks. The arm around the waist. The sitting on the lap. The intimacy that’s as close as possible and everywhere. The I love you’s and pinky promises. The sharing of everything.
D—-. Sobbing. A slap. Bitter end.
E—. The everyday texts. The snapchat streak. The boba and food hangouts. The school rivalry. Te banter and humor. The six-hour conversations filled with laughter. The purple hearts. The missed calls. The byeeeeee.
E—. The silver car with windows down and sunroof open and music blaring and leaving everything else behind. The 3-D glasses over normal glasses. The red thread of fate. The piano fingers. The promises of dancing the night away (a year from now). The surprise birthday plan. The snow globe.
E—. Smiling. Driving.
What’s in a name that it can hold sights and sounds and smells and sensations? How can a single name hold the power to make me cry and sob and scream and laugh and smile? Why can I not hear certain names without cringing or remembering or wishing?
Even a distant conversation with a specific name overheard will tear apart my self-control and bring me to my knees, and god, you cannot trigger warning a name. Because it’s a goddamn name.
We give new lives these names that they will probably carry for the rest of their time on this earth, and what power that is. I could bestow a name on a child, and years from now, that name could bring thoughts of love or hate or nostalgia or betrayal.
But what’s really in a name? If only Shakespeare thought to answer through Romeo…