Your Name

I want to write your name. I want to write your name a thousand times on the pages of a notebook, sometimes in block letters, sometimes in [my attempt at] elegant script, sometimes in chicken scratch, sometimes transliterated into Arabic, sometimes Pig Latin.

It wouldn't matter really, how I'd write it, as long as it flowed effortlessly from pen to paper as though my hand owned it. As though your name belonged to my fingers. Fingers to body. Body to me.

I want to write your name but I will refrain, so if you Google yourself-- which someone with an ego your size would do-- you won't find this (though I secretly want you to).

I want to write your name but I will not write it here and I will not write it anywhere.

I want to own your name but I will not own it now and I will not own it ever.

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It started in your arms. A cliche, at best, but what can I say? I felt safe. I felt as though we needed one another. When you held me, I felt you becoming stronger as you made me stronger. I felt as though we could be a team and laugh at the world together. I would never have initiated the kiss or taken it further if you hadn't sent me such glaring signals. Only now, the signals have changed and the green light's turned yellow.

Why?

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Why did I fall for you right in time for your to change your mind?

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I believe you're torn. You do not text someone randomly, "You looked pretty today," if you're completely ambivalent. Nor do you flirt shamelessly. Nor do you inquire on more than one occasion if something you've done has caused you to "lose points." Nor do you text said individual regularly until she agrees to hang out. Nor do you say and do a billion trillion other things that you've said, done and been doing since I've known you.

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Sometimes I believe I'm too good for you, but mostly, I just believe we would be good for each other.

How long will it take you to realize? How long will it take you to let go of your fears and reservations? Will it be too late?

Tell me, won't you write my name?