Y/N

the name on my lips is

a clutteredhuman centipedecontortion of identity

a parent calling for their child, stringing together siblingsyllablesoup

a name no longer separate from me/you/him/her

-the whispers in the night

-hands (grasping) bodies

-voices jumbled chorus of confusion

She says your name,

the name on my lips,

and you burst forth

separate

cleaved, cut into clear consciousness

I see you

A stranger walking past with her

You are what growing up is supposed to look like:

like love

like certainty

like the future just beyond my reach

like your name on my lips once more, at last.

Bittersweet in its reality.